Unless I know and love you, I don't care how old your child is.
Just because I had babies doesn't mean I'm automatically interested in other people's kids. Giving birth did not magically turn me from a self-involved exhibitionist into a baby and/or child lover. Except for mine of course -I love them to death and am infinitely fascinated by their every mundane development. But that interest does not unfortunately carry over to every other miscellaneous child I encounter daily. And let me tell you, I encounter tons of them since that's what I do all day every day- be with my kids where other all-day-every-day-with-their-kids-mommies are. You know, the usual suspects: the grocery store, the park, the zoo, the library... the grocery store, the park, the zoo, the library.
It's the retarded default question that every catatonically bored parent pushing their kid on the swing next to mine or waiting in line at Vons always asks me: How old is he? I know it is a politehood, and I always answer back politely. But the fact is that I never re-gift the question because quite frankly I just don't care how old their child is. It doesn't interest me in the slightest. I'm sorry. I apologize for this socially incorrect truth, this blasphemy of motherhood, this overtly rude confession. But motherhood has not instantaneously transformed me into a child-o-phile. I don't coo at every passing baby and child. (okay, some of them...the teeny tiny itty bitty newborns do interest me a little, just because of the sheer tininess of them) I don't wonder what developmental milestones every random child in my path has hit. I don't suffer any burning curiosity to know what foods your child likes and dislikes, what stage or non-stage of potty training they're at, what you'll do or not do for your child's next birthday or when they nap or don't nap. And I certainly don't think every baby and kid is cute. Not even close.
So please, unless you really do care and are genuinely curious... you don't have to ask me my child's age just to make small talk in a boring situation. I'm fine with just glancing at each other's kids with an obligatory (perhaps forced) weak grin - without comment - and moving on to our next parental task like wiping down a gushing snotty nose or finding a thrown off shoe or ripping away the stolen snickers bar from my cleptomanic-in-training's greedy little paws in the grocery line.