The novelty was wearing off finally.
Sure it was still kinda cute (okay really cute) but the 'new car' smell was just about gone and was now replaced by the rancid odor of never ending poopy diapers, spit up in my hair and curdled formula pooled in my cleavage.
I was disgusted by my own weakness. I could see that slowly I was selling my very soul just to mollify its constant demand for attention. How many times does it need me to sing "Soft Kitty"? Again? Again? Pretty soon it will be endless rounds of "Creepy Mousie" And "Peeky Boo".
And that overly theatrical display of helplessness-- how can I fall for that time after time?
It has psychic powers too. And it compels me to buy it clothes and toys and books and toys. And more toys.
Does it think I actually ENJOY changing it's diaper-- because it is just too lazy to take itself to the toilet-- even if there is super cute baby Big Bird and baby Cookie Monster on the front?
I shook myself from my stupor to realize I was eating cat food on dry saltine crackers just so it could have it's own new copy of Hungry Catapiller. I am a slave to its demands. When it just had to have a baby wipe warmer I knew I had to break the hold it has over me or I would forever be its prisoner.
I almost did it. I almost broke the chain
But then............. THIS!
I might as well face it, I am addicted to love.