Dear God, do I ever love this kid. He makes me want to spawn.
That urge kicks in every once in awhile, at the strangest times. I mean, I love and adore children, and I know that someday I’ll be absolutely blissful with many of them, but that day is far, far away. However, they weren’t kidding about this whole biological clock thing. The older I get, the more I have to stop myself from asking complete strangers in stores if I can smell their babies’ heads. It’s a compulsion. Baby head is the most heavenly smell in the world, like milk and bath and powder and sleepy sweetness. And just the other night, I babysat for my old neighbors’ kids, and when I used their bathroom, the sight of discarded plastic dinosaurs at the bottom of the bathtub made me all wistful.
A Saturday afternoon trip to Wal-Mart usually clears this all right up.