<div class="posterous_autopost"><p><a href="http://posterous.com/getfile/files.posterous.com/everydaytreats/PMfucLU1F3ZW7VuPqsR5fp3EDEbOVLxFaC4f4QhyIcnjMeDzEhkC6w287R88/CameraBag_Photo_1001.jpg"><img height="500" src="http://www.everydaytreats.com/wp-content/uploads/CameraBag_Photo_1001.jpg.scaled.500.jpg" width="500" /></a> </p><p style="font-size: 10px;"> <a href="http://posterous.com">Posted via email</a> from <a href="http://everydaytreats.posterous.com/city-hall-57">Everyday Treats</a></p> </div><p>I just went to City Hall, a wonderfully strange and retro place, to pick up my third child&#39;s birth certificate. He&#39;s now five months old. This made me laugh, because when my first was born I was at City Hall on his tenth day -- the first day they would allow me to pick up a copy.</p><p>It was very nostalgic this time. I&#39;m a pro at picking up birth certificates by now -- I know exactly which hallway I need to go to, and I also know where to pay. Then again, I&#39;m pretty sure this is the last time I&#39;ll be picking up a birth certificate for one of my children. That feels sad but also, liberating. </p><p></p>
