Nature v. Nurture 

Every time I hold a baby around my relatives, someone invariably says something to the effect of, “You’re a natural.” So I can only assume a woman’s default demeanor when holding an infant is, “Scared shitless she’ll drop it, or that its head will fall off.”

It’s a baby, not a fucking shark. I’m cuddling a tiny, wriggly human who smells like toast and isn’t an asshole yet. Her default state is “snuggle.” It’s not difficult.

Besides, she has you people for family, so what sounds like me whispering soothing nothings into her ear is actually me singing her my therapist’s phone number like it’s a Sesame Street song, hoping that, similar to the alphabet, it’ll be on her mental auto-dial as she gets older.