Monday, 8 February 2016

A Baby Post.

No, not the usual ‘aren’t babies weird?’ post. It goes like this.

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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