Now I dream about babies.
My co-worker's babies, to be exact, but in my dreams they're mine.
Let's first address the gorilla in the room: no, I am NOT pregnant. Now the elephant in the room: I am not secretly plotting to "forcibly adopt" my co-worker's 4 week old twins. And finally, the '66 Chevy 3/4 ton dually in the room: I really don't know a thing about babies.
How did all these things get in this room??
I love the smell of babies, holding onto their little fingers and toes, watching them make all kinds of faces and noises, but when I get my hands on one I'm like one of those monkeys trying to figure out what the heck you do with a wiffle ball.
"Wait, where do I put this hand?"
"Is her arm supposed to bend like that?!"
"Why is he making that face??"
Yes. I, too, am a little concerned for my future children*. But then I says to myself, I says, "hang on just two shakes of a turkey gobbler. You have two younger sisters. You used to change their diapers. You used to hold them and feed them. You were fluent in baby talk." Then I says back, "You are right. I've got past experience, now I just need to dig up some maternal instinct and those babies might have a chance!"
There was more to the conversation. My self and I went on to talk about the fat content of a bean burrito, but it didn't pertain to this baby stuff so I left it out.
*yes, children. as in more than one. as in 7**
** i say 7, but i really mean 4, don't tell corey, though, i'm using an old sales technique on him.
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