I Was Judged For Not Having A Child. When I Had One At 44, I Was Shocked By The Response.

“Do Democrats have babies?”

I stared at the woman clutching a stack of brochures. Dusty beams of sunlight streamed into the pavilion, glinting on her scratched barrettes as she scrunched her brow and waited. The faint smell of hay and manure wafted by the booth where I stood, considering how to respond. Finally, I replied, “Well, I think we all have the same equipment.”

I knew that wasn’t what she was asking, but that’s the answer I thought she deserved.

I was staffing a county fair booth for the Democrats of Southern Utah, and our group was a glaring outlier among a sea of red, rural and religious organizations. I expected to be approached by people who disapproved of us, but I did not anticipate such an unusual question by a woman shuffling from booth to booth, promoting her home-based business.

Two brochures were all she was willing to share. As she walked away, I glanced at one and saw that her business turned mothers’ ultrasounds into DVDs with accompanying music. Now I was the one with the scrunched brow. If I were pregnant (which I wouldn’t be for another 10 years), what music would I choose? The theme song from “2001: A Space Odyssey?” “Mammas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys?” Ozzie Osbourne’s “Crazy Train?”

I suppose my levity gave credence to the woman’s assumption that Democrats do not have babies. Still, her behavior rankled me. She knew quite well that Democrats were able to have babies. She just didn’t think Democrats wanted to have babies.

I wondered if the woman really thought I was going to give her brochures some space on our table. Instead, I tucked them into my purse and breathed. It wasn’t the first time I — or a group with which I identified — had been stereotyped. In my mid-30s and