Being an HSP type can be a crucifying experience at times,
so much so that if I’d known what was in store I would have been sorely tempted
to get my umbilical cord wrapped securely around my neck and positioned myself
for an ultimately pointless breech birth. But then I do have a couple of pieces
of pretty compelling circumstantial evidence that I did know what was coming, and put off taking the dreaded drop for
as long as possible. Which makes me wonder…
I wonder whether babies aren’t quite the blank sheets of
paper we think they are. Maybe their tiny brains are working full tilt from the
word go, and maybe when that rubbery and relatively useless little proto-human
is regarding its adoring people trafficker (aka parent) with the sort of
enigmatic look that used to give my mother the creeps (or so she said) it’s thinking
‘Why? Why did you have to do this to me? Couldn’t you have risen above the
procreation imperative, or whatever sordid motivation was responsible, and got
drunk enough to pass out instead?’
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