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.

“C is for Coitus. That’s good enough for me.”

Friend: “Sesame Street has an O Show. O is Oprah and she’s giving out oboes. ‘You get an oboe! You get an oboe!'”

Me: “This went to a place in my brain that is inappropriate for Sesame Street. But on the pervy shady side streets? You get an O-face.”

Friend: “You get an orgasm! You get an orgasm!”

You guys… Gross, can you imagine?

Maybe that’s why Guy was so Smiley.