Kitty.

Maybe this is silly, but my cats make me want to have babies. I mean, clearly, I want to have babies anyway, but ...

This morning the bunny cat, who normally doesn't even like me that much was mewing and beeping and jumped up into bed and cuddled and nuzzled and generally loved me and it was amazing. And all I could think about was how much more amazing it will be when I have a baby in bed with me, cuddling and nuzzling and generally loving me.

Sometimes Kyle will baby-talk to the kitties, cradling them in his arms, and all I can do is picture him cradling a baby, and that image of big burly manly man holding a teeny tiny baby is just irresistible.

This has probably nothing to do with my cats in particular, and has more to do with my ability to relate anything and everything in my life back to babies. Every nap I take I imagine taking it with a baby asleep on my chest. I see everything through the eyes of my future toddler, from butterflies to bus rides. Work kills me. Merchandising baby clothing for a living means that every mannequin I dress I am creating outfits for my child.

I need a life. Or a baby.