Several months ago, with no advance warning, babies ate my brain. I'm not quite sure how it happened. All I know is that one day I developed this radar that can locate any baby within 100 yards and also developed a nearly uncontrollable urge, once I locate the baby, to pick it up and lick it. I am obsessed with little baby toes and chubby baby thighs and toothless baby smiles. I have recently taken up knitting, and it takes all the willpower I possess to refrain from making itsy-bitsy baby booties all the live long day.
This makes me crazy. I have a job! And an education! And hobbies! And I do not need a baby to complete my life or make me fulfilled or save my marriage or make my ass any bigger. I like doing what I want when I want. And I suspect that babies are a lot harder to care for than cats and that you can't just leave some extra food when you go away for the weekend. I can think of a hundred good solid logical reasons I should not have a baby, and not a single good solid logical reason I should.
And every time I see a baby I want to lie down on the floor and cry and kick my legs and pitch a major tantrum until someone gives me one of my own.
How serious is it? I. Gave. Up. Coffee. That's serious.