Peressa Rabniran is having a quiet evening at home poring over some friends' research papers. Her husband is out on a camping trip with friends who, like him, are considerably more outdoorsy than Peressa, and they don't have any children yet, so she has the apartment to herself. She could go out to the floor lounge, but she's enjoying the solitude. She sips a spiced orange mixer and flips to a different paper.
"Well, this is all tasty," she says. Omf nomf breastfeeding is hungry work.
The window flickers on as the social worker logs on.
"Hi! I have been told that you're apparently from an alternate universe and there's linguistic evidence to back it up. My superiors are still assessing the evidence, but at least for the moment, we'll assume it's true. How are you doing?"
"Surprisingly okay, I guess? I'm going to miss people but at least my baby is here."
"What are the circumstances under which you came to have a baby? Please understand, I don't say this out of any concern that you might be an unfit caretaker, but most people who have children as young as you have some kind of problem, and if you have one of those problems, I want to help you."
"I don't have the problem anymore, he's back in my world with everyone else I've ever met, but how long do you people wait?"
"Twenties or thirties, usually. In your universe, do people not get fitted with contraceptive implants as a matter of course?"