I had a baby once. I didn’t get along with it. It would scream all through the night wanting something that I could never figure out. No one understood the despise I held for that baby. It all disappeared that day with the rush of the river.
Baby, I’ve never understood why that day finally came when it did. I was alone. For so long I had sunk low around you, hoping not to cause any arguments, hoping not to rise anything above content within you. I was afraid of you. Now, they day has come that I have to deal with it.
Spills on the floor without something soft, like a blanket. There should always be a blanket. And the baby is broken. Like a bottle. Horrendous gibberish today. One word.
I want to have a baby one day. Someone to nurture and to nourish, someone to grow a life in. And I want to share this experience with someone whom I treasure, someone whom I admire and respect and would say a thousand times yes to. We will have a baby to love.
Babies can be a pain.
Last time I went over to Aunt Mags house, her newest kid, Rosa, was so cute and little and quiet. More recently I went, and that was the most scarring event of my life. *Shudder*
Baby, a word that is used to describe many things that both uplift and diminish. My “dear baby” used in love. My “baby sister”, to describe a 42 year old, somewhat dimishing. “She’s such a baby” diminshing comment.
The most important thing about the word baby is the image it conjures up… a sweet, loving, innocent, good smelling, new life.
Powder-soft, fresh from warm clear baths like tropical seas. Gurgling, cherry-cheeked, chubby-handed little thing. But they do metamorphose, change from small squirming lovelies into strange slithery beasts, angry and grey behind their desks.
Such scary things. They almost remind me of cameras though. If you drop it, then most likely, you’ll break it. Yeah, there’s the whole thing about babies having flexible bones and all, but still. You’ll most likely do some kind of damage to it if you drop it. And they
baby. what you call someone you love. what you call someone you’ve made. what you call someone who means everything thing to you. it could be the best word in the world or the worst. but being called baby is the best thing in the world. because when you’re called that, you know someone cares.
It was a cold blustery day. The baby was fast asleep in her purple pushchair as the autumn leaves danced around her and the wind whistled around the trees. Her yellow teddy bear pushed against her red cheek and her icy nose was wet with snot.
“You can’t be afraid of it, it’s just a word!” Exclaimed Sharon as she stood at her sister’s bedside gripping her hand firmly. The room seemed to quickly flood with nurses all rushing to attend to Tina as she went through several waves of heavy breathing. “It’s not just a word though is it?” Tina wailed through exasperated breaths, it’s the whole idea of it, “motherhood.”
baby girl
don’t cry
everything’s fine
its all okay
everywhere
everything
in this huge world
what a lie
what bulls**t
what enigmatic fallacy
we’re taught
as children
in life
by our raisers
and suitors
and others
Babies are the sweetest form of human life. No baby does wrong. No baby hurts. Babies are what is good in this world. Even their smell is good. Their breath, their skin…but not their poop, their poop stinks, but that is all, that is all the is bad about a baby. I once was a baby and soon I will have a baby of my own. A good smelling, stinky diapered baby.
the family died when i said we’d try, when i said i was ready, but still took it in private. the Pill. theres something so commanding about capital letters, about that bigness, that head at the start of the word, making it seem more important than it really is. you don’t have to tell me i wasn’t right. the choice was obvious and i chose wrong. and now. now. he’s gone, and i’m alone, and he never even got to know, all alone without my ever wanting it my mistake grows on big and round inside my belly. the little baby, who should’ve died, and that huge goddamned family that should have lived. but should’ve isn’t has, should’ve isn’t definite- oh no. its the most finite thing in the world. i should’ve been stronger. should’ve been smarter. and what do i have? what sits comfortably in the has column? that goddamned baby that only he ever wanted. that i only ever wished would go away.
what a broken little family
i whisper to the baby. what i mean is what a broken little girl. and then i get up off the floor, sniffing up my tears only as a pretense to get his smell one last time, and head off to the clinic to say goodbye for the second time that night. What a goddamned broken girl. a broken girl with her broken family breaking her baby one last time.
I’m not your sweet girl. I’m not your naughty girl. I’m not your toy.
Anymore.
I’m not your old lady. I’m not your new gal. I’m not your honey.
I saw your friend. He said you were making time with the girl next door.
I’m not your main squeeze. I’m not your baby. I’m nothing to you.
Anymore.
cause after all that time, i still wanted it. what i’d thrown away, what i’d promised him we’d have. A family involves babies, and when i lied to him, and you know i did, the family died with the babies.
I once made you shiver with only my touch.
I ran my fingers down your spine; You said it tickled too much.
Now we’ve switched places, and you’re giving me chills
But from feeling your absence instead of your thrills.
the thing was tiny. So small i could barley bring myself to tell him. to admit. but i did. you know i did.
“Its not ok.” He said. and then he walked out. walked out like it was nothing, like it wasn’t a big deal. but it was, a big deal i mean.
Un bébé est une source de braillement, de conflit. C’est un mini-humain dont on ne comprend pas bien les besoins. Je pense que le notre sera différent de ceux qui nous répugnent actuellement. Ils bavent, crient, pleurent, ressemblent à des anges une fois endormis…
Nous espérons en faire de bonne personne, tout simplement. (je pense oui)
I would like to hold a baby for about 20 minutes a day. I don’t want one, at least right now, but I do like them. Calming a baby is a very calming experience for me, and I like when they’re smiling, or when they are sleepy.
So warm and cozy and smell so nice, and if they don’t, hand ’em back.
“Oh baby”he said, as the waitress walked by a booth filled with men who just got off work. She turned and looked at him, and with a firm look she said, “I’ll baby you, you smart ass.”
You’re my baby. Science says that women think of their lovers as their babies,and it totally rings true for me. I just want to take care of you. and maybe one day,I’ll have your baby too.
“It’s your baby, Slade,” Lance said. Slade just looked at the kid and filled his mouth with Budweiser. Lance fumbled around for a cigarette. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with this shit,” he said. Slade sozzled beer around in his mouth. Lance said, “The Judge’s kid ‘bout did me in when I was tyin’ ‘im up.” He shifted his eyes from Slade to the flame in his shaking hand, said, “What you gonna do with that dead chick you found in the trunk of his car?” He’d just about got his Marlboro lit when Slade busted out laughing, sprayed beer everwhere, extinguished Lance’s cig. “Same thang you gonna do with that wet death stick hangin’ from yo’ mouth, Boy!”
You’ll always be my baby. My love. The one I take care of. You rely on me, but I rely on you too, you know. It was short lived, but you were mine, and I’ll never forget you. You were there. We were connected. Now I’m older, but the thought of you still reminds me that there’s always another chance. That I was born to do this.
dude i’ve done this a million times before. babies are creatures without a purpose in my opinion. they don’t have an opinion, they can’t speak their mind, they aren’t cute or anything, they’re just… there. without a purpose.
My little brother used to be a baby five years ago. He used to be very cute, but he gets even cuter day after day. I personally don’t think babies are cute, they don’t have hair or a pretty face or something to say. They are just creatures without a purpose.
I’ve always wanted a baby. I was born to be a mom, I used to say. Always having younger kids around doesn’t hurt, I think. It was the nurturing, really. I think that’s what led me to holistic healthcare as a career field; its all about the nurturing, baby! I get to take care of people and teach them how to take care of themselves.
Thats all I wanted. Whether it was his or not. I didn`t care. Hell, if I could I will trade some eggs for baby batter. but all I really waned was a project something to immerse myself in.
The baby looked so innocent. So lonely sitting there on the street corner. Its tears were stained lines on his cheeks. What was to become of this poor soul calling out for help? Would anyone offer to raise him?
Delicate skin cradled in my arms. Their soft coo’s as they rest comfortably cascade emotions through me. I love the way they smell, the way they beauty shines with every giggle made. A bundle of joy.
Something I do not have. Something I have thought about. I like the connection, but fear the obligation. I crave the baby love but not the distancing teenager. Parenting is what I do with my dogs and cats.
So small, so tiny; he couldn’t believe how tiny those hands were, compared to his. How delicate and precious and tiny– wow. so small. how did they come that small? Had he ever been like that? He must have been, at some point, but–
The babbling baby utters more sense than the superfluous politicians.
I had a baby once. I didn’t get along with it. It would scream all through the night wanting something that I could never figure out. No one understood the despise I held for that baby. It all disappeared that day with the rush of the river.
“Oh, baby, hold me close. Kiss me everywhere.”
“Even the parts I don’t want to kiss?”
“Oh. Sorry. Do I need a shave?”
“In more than one place.”
“Eesh. Hon. Just kiss me over the nice parts, then.”
“How about the nicest parts?”
“Would you just cut the practical crap, take my sappiness at face value, and kiss me?”
“Only if you say the magic words.”
“You’re dead sexy.”
“Fair enough.”
Baby, I’ve never understood why that day finally came when it did. I was alone. For so long I had sunk low around you, hoping not to cause any arguments, hoping not to rise anything above content within you. I was afraid of you. Now, they day has come that I have to deal with it.
Spills on the floor without something soft, like a blanket. There should always be a blanket. And the baby is broken. Like a bottle. Horrendous gibberish today. One word.
I want to have a baby one day. Someone to nurture and to nourish, someone to grow a life in. And I want to share this experience with someone whom I treasure, someone whom I admire and respect and would say a thousand times yes to. We will have a baby to love.
Babies can be a pain.
Last time I went over to Aunt Mags house, her newest kid, Rosa, was so cute and little and quiet. More recently I went, and that was the most scarring event of my life. *Shudder*
Baby, a word that is used to describe many things that both uplift and diminish. My “dear baby” used in love. My “baby sister”, to describe a 42 year old, somewhat dimishing. “She’s such a baby” diminshing comment.
The most important thing about the word baby is the image it conjures up… a sweet, loving, innocent, good smelling, new life.
Powder-soft, fresh from warm clear baths like tropical seas. Gurgling, cherry-cheeked, chubby-handed little thing. But they do metamorphose, change from small squirming lovelies into strange slithery beasts, angry and grey behind their desks.
Such scary things. They almost remind me of cameras though. If you drop it, then most likely, you’ll break it. Yeah, there’s the whole thing about babies having flexible bones and all, but still. You’ll most likely do some kind of damage to it if you drop it. And they
baby. what you call someone you love. what you call someone you’ve made. what you call someone who means everything thing to you. it could be the best word in the world or the worst. but being called baby is the best thing in the world. because when you’re called that, you know someone cares.
i don’t remember. we were all there once. i suppose it was a warm place.
i just don’t remember.
It was a cold blustery day. The baby was fast asleep in her purple pushchair as the autumn leaves danced around her and the wind whistled around the trees. Her yellow teddy bear pushed against her red cheek and her icy nose was wet with snot.
“You can’t be afraid of it, it’s just a word!” Exclaimed Sharon as she stood at her sister’s bedside gripping her hand firmly. The room seemed to quickly flood with nurses all rushing to attend to Tina as she went through several waves of heavy breathing. “It’s not just a word though is it?” Tina wailed through exasperated breaths, it’s the whole idea of it, “motherhood.”
baby girl
don’t cry
everything’s fine
its all okay
everywhere
everything
in this huge world
what a lie
what bulls**t
what enigmatic fallacy
we’re taught
as children
in life
by our raisers
and suitors
and others
Babies are the sweetest form of human life. No baby does wrong. No baby hurts. Babies are what is good in this world. Even their smell is good. Their breath, their skin…but not their poop, their poop stinks, but that is all, that is all the is bad about a baby. I once was a baby and soon I will have a baby of my own. A good smelling, stinky diapered baby.
the family died when i said we’d try, when i said i was ready, but still took it in private. the Pill. theres something so commanding about capital letters, about that bigness, that head at the start of the word, making it seem more important than it really is. you don’t have to tell me i wasn’t right. the choice was obvious and i chose wrong. and now. now. he’s gone, and i’m alone, and he never even got to know, all alone without my ever wanting it my mistake grows on big and round inside my belly. the little baby, who should’ve died, and that huge goddamned family that should have lived. but should’ve isn’t has, should’ve isn’t definite- oh no. its the most finite thing in the world. i should’ve been stronger. should’ve been smarter. and what do i have? what sits comfortably in the has column? that goddamned baby that only he ever wanted. that i only ever wished would go away.
what a broken little family
i whisper to the baby. what i mean is what a broken little girl. and then i get up off the floor, sniffing up my tears only as a pretense to get his smell one last time, and head off to the clinic to say goodbye for the second time that night. What a goddamned broken girl. a broken girl with her broken family breaking her baby one last time.
I’m not your sweet girl. I’m not your naughty girl. I’m not your toy.
Anymore.
I’m not your old lady. I’m not your new gal. I’m not your honey.
I saw your friend. He said you were making time with the girl next door.
I’m not your main squeeze. I’m not your baby. I’m nothing to you.
Anymore.
Yesterday, during lunch, my co-workers baby banged banged his head against her face so hard that it broke her nose.
cause after all that time, i still wanted it. what i’d thrown away, what i’d promised him we’d have. A family involves babies, and when i lied to him, and you know i did, the family died with the babies.
I once made you shiver with only my touch.
I ran my fingers down your spine; You said it tickled too much.
Now we’ve switched places, and you’re giving me chills
But from feeling your absence instead of your thrills.
the thing was tiny. So small i could barley bring myself to tell him. to admit. but i did. you know i did.
“Its not ok.” He said. and then he walked out. walked out like it was nothing, like it wasn’t a big deal. but it was, a big deal i mean.
Crystla blue eyes and a toothy grin. A tuft of white blonde hair and an adorable giggle. Sitting on the sandy beach in a printed sundress.
Un bébé est une source de braillement, de conflit. C’est un mini-humain dont on ne comprend pas bien les besoins. Je pense que le notre sera différent de ceux qui nous répugnent actuellement. Ils bavent, crient, pleurent, ressemblent à des anges une fois endormis…
Nous espérons en faire de bonne personne, tout simplement. (je pense oui)
I would like to hold a baby for about 20 minutes a day. I don’t want one, at least right now, but I do like them. Calming a baby is a very calming experience for me, and I like when they’re smiling, or when they are sleepy.
So warm and cozy and smell so nice, and if they don’t, hand ’em back.
“Oh baby”he said, as the waitress walked by a booth filled with men who just got off work. She turned and looked at him, and with a firm look she said, “I’ll baby you, you smart ass.”
Baby, I miss you terribly.
You’re my baby. Science says that women think of their lovers as their babies,and it totally rings true for me. I just want to take care of you. and maybe one day,I’ll have your baby too.
“It’s your baby, Slade,” Lance said. Slade just looked at the kid and filled his mouth with Budweiser. Lance fumbled around for a cigarette. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with this shit,” he said. Slade sozzled beer around in his mouth. Lance said, “The Judge’s kid ‘bout did me in when I was tyin’ ‘im up.” He shifted his eyes from Slade to the flame in his shaking hand, said, “What you gonna do with that dead chick you found in the trunk of his car?” He’d just about got his Marlboro lit when Slade busted out laughing, sprayed beer everwhere, extinguished Lance’s cig. “Same thang you gonna do with that wet death stick hangin’ from yo’ mouth, Boy!”
I love my baby, baby means love.
You’ll always be my baby. My love. The one I take care of. You rely on me, but I rely on you too, you know. It was short lived, but you were mine, and I’ll never forget you. You were there. We were connected. Now I’m older, but the thought of you still reminds me that there’s always another chance. That I was born to do this.
dude i’ve done this a million times before. babies are creatures without a purpose in my opinion. they don’t have an opinion, they can’t speak their mind, they aren’t cute or anything, they’re just… there. without a purpose.
My little brother used to be a baby five years ago. He used to be very cute, but he gets even cuter day after day. I personally don’t think babies are cute, they don’t have hair or a pretty face or something to say. They are just creatures without a purpose.
I’ve always wanted a baby. I was born to be a mom, I used to say. Always having younger kids around doesn’t hurt, I think. It was the nurturing, really. I think that’s what led me to holistic healthcare as a career field; its all about the nurturing, baby! I get to take care of people and teach them how to take care of themselves.
I don’t think I could ever be a mother…Who wants to lug a tiny person around in a backpack? You can’t bring them traveling!
Thats all I wanted. Whether it was his or not. I didn`t care. Hell, if I could I will trade some eggs for baby batter. but all I really waned was a project something to immerse myself in.
The baby looked so innocent. So lonely sitting there on the street corner. Its tears were stained lines on his cheeks. What was to become of this poor soul calling out for help? Would anyone offer to raise him?
Delicate skin cradled in my arms. Their soft coo’s as they rest comfortably cascade emotions through me. I love the way they smell, the way they beauty shines with every giggle made. A bundle of joy.
Something I do not have. Something I have thought about. I like the connection, but fear the obligation. I crave the baby love but not the distancing teenager. Parenting is what I do with my dogs and cats.
So small, so tiny; he couldn’t believe how tiny those hands were, compared to his. How delicate and precious and tiny– wow. so small. how did they come that small? Had he ever been like that? He must have been, at some point, but–
Wow.
Wonder was the only word. How?