My whole life I knew I wanted a baby. My mom and dad never told me I had to have one, but at four I knew I want to care for a smaller me. I had baby dolls and even held my brother when he was small and loved playing with him.
I always hold a baby when they are around. They are cute and innocent and pure. They haven’t been corrupted or turned evil by society. I know that sounds deep but that is what makes them wonderful.
Spite-up and farts from them don’t bother me. When they do it it doesn’t smell bad. Sometimes it does, but not that much. I just love the way they drool and stick their tiny fists in their mouth.
They don’t know anything and they are just exploring the world. I wonder what they think of everyday items. They don’t know what it’s called, but they just groan and throw it on the floor.
I know that their crying can be annoying, but I know they do it because they are feeling human emotions. They are humans, just really small. My mom is convinced that I will have at least three to five kids. I agree with her.
The calmness that babies bring me helps my anxiety, which is ironic because taking care of them can be stressful. But it’s me we’re talking about. I’m always the opposite.