I really ought to wear one of those “Hello, My Name Is: ________” stickers on my coat.

I’m not sure whether it’s because August isn’t terribly talkative yet or I’m alone much of the time, but I keep finding myself chatting up strangers in strange places.

For example, the other day I met the mother of Colston in the Oval at Central Park. I sidled right up to her, totally unabashed and asked her “how old?” Turns out he’s just six days senior to Augie. We got to talking as new mothers will and then, when August started squawking, I went on my merry way.

Later on, I got to chatting with the check-out lady at Zabar’s. Telling her about August — his age and such — full of motherly pride.

And during a late afternoon run to Duane Reade, I made friendly chatter with a mom in the pharmacy line whose six-month-old was squealing to high heaven. (She said he cries all the time, God bless him.)

I’ve stopped moms in the street, I’ve stopped ladies after baby yoga, I’ve latched on to pregnant women to tell them that everything is going to be fine. I’ve gotten to know the parents on my block. I’ve sent emails to mothers I barely know and forwarded the names of good babysitters. I’m friends with two Rachels and a Tiffany from mommy school, I go walking with Kristin and Sarah from the ‘hood. And on and so it goes.

You know, come to think of it, all of a sudden, I’m friendly. There’s just no telling what becoming a mum will do to you.