Babies Are Crack

Lest you think — why is this lady bitching about writing and kids? Why didn’t she just not have kids?

Fair enough.

I will tell you the simple reason:

Because babies are crack.

Have you held a baby? Your baby? Your sister’s baby?

Total crack. Fact.

If you have not had a baby, I will tell you what happens after the blood and the gore and the delivery or the adoption or whatever brings that little baby into your arms:

The world splits upon its seam. It is just you and your baby. Nothing else matters. The world is new and it is yours: made just for you and your baby. You are one.

It’s love times one thousand. You are needed in a thousand, million different ways. He is yours and you are his and it is love. Crazy love.

They smell good, like fresh baked bread.

They are obsession: in the way they fill up your every single, waking, breathing minute. Even your sleeping minutes. Your whole life is taken over. And you will fight it. I fight it. But you give in, again and again, and again. Because they are sweet and kind and warm and soft and they need you. And you need them.

Babies = crack.

That’s all.

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