Need I say anymore? To go from living your life being completely self-centered—you had complete freedom to do whatever, go to the bathroom and doom scroll ’til your butt turns red whenever you want, and have steaming hot showers for however long you’d want, and oh idk, maybe even watch a movie. Or just one episode all the way through, even. I was very self-centered before baby—I just did not realize how much! Now take that alllll away. All of it. You are not free. You are this little cute creature’s slave. And not only are you trying to make sure it stays alive and doesn’t kill itself—or me (toddler)—you are now faced with your inner child and all of your faults because everything starts to rise to the surface and these shadows become glaringly obvious to you. They start to take tangible, solid form. And you’re like, oh shit, there’s a lot more here than I realized. Thought I was over this shit, but I guess not. And now you’re faced with the reality that there is no time to fuck around and find out. Because you gotta be good for your baby. Babies are sponges. Mom is off? Baby is off. Adult human that said baby grows up to become, becomes off.

So then you course-correct like crazy and you flip this shit shadow around and give it a big hug until it dissolves. And you thank it. And you thank your baby because he was the catalyst for all of it. Then you go on enjoying the moment with your baby as it is completely fleeting and you’ll never get this back again. You’re heartbroken and so truly, purely, immensely in love at the same time, all the time. In the material world, babies are the closest to the purest form of truth, love, and divinity. Which is why the elites are killing and eating babies. Because they are void of love. And you can’t help but feel all the anger and all the feelings of wanting to protect your baby at all costs. To kill for your baby. Wow, what a trip! Parenthood is wild. Motherhood is wild. Having a baby is punk rock.