So I’m sitting here in Dunn Bros. coffee shop writing because my TOTALLY AWESOME SISTER is being my nanny for the week so I can finish. My goddamn. Dissertation. But that’s not what I’m here to tell you. What I’m here to tell you is: a young woman just walked in to the coffee shop with a wee little baby, maybe one month old, and HOLY CRAP I THOUGHT ABOUT HOW NICE IT WOULD BE TO HAVE ANOTHER ONE THAT SMALL.
Dudes. This is so not cool. The Hatchling is only 13 months old. We do not want to have another one for another couple of years, for real. Up until this point even the thought of having another one sent me into a blind panic. Is this some weird kind of hormonal surge? Have I been smoking crack in my sleep again? Somebody make it stop!