I promise I wasn’t always this… desperate? Is desperate the right word? Fuck if I know. Christ. You grow up with that whole house and a white picket fence shit shoved down your throat and you hit your biological clock… and nothing makes sense anymore. I don’t know what to tell you.
Officer, I went a little baby-crazy. Okay, a lot baby-crazy.
It’s the cute little shoes and the cute little clothes. I wandered around Babies ‘R Us like it was my fucking job—seriously, someone thought I worked there and asked me for help. It’s not my fault though, I promise. It’s evolution. It does… something to you. The hormones.
Sir, all my friends were having kids. Just… rubbing it in my face, you know? They all had kids and I didn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a husband. Not that you need a husband to have a baby these days—look at lesbians! They’re all having babies and there’s no penis involved. Fucking turkey basters, it’s ingenious, I tell you.