At age 29 and 10 weeks pregnant, I found myself sleeping in a mixed dorm. It was me, a bunch of college kids, and my fetus. I’d promised myself at 28 that I’d never do the hostel thing again, but old habits die hard. Plus, I couldn’t find much available when I tried to book a Venetian hotel a few days before my trip.
The other guests passed around a bottle of alcohol, graciously offering me some. And I, the responsible future mother, declined. I struck up a conversation with another Columbia grad. We talked about classes, as though I had graduated a month before (like him) and not seven years ago.