No matter what the music, all babies love to dance. And all dancing babies resemble paper sacks with kittens in them; they're squat, shapeless, and likely to jerk arrhythmically in unexpected places.
posted by zen imbecile at 5:00 PM
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2 comments
Boy. You spend years working on your shit. Your insecurities, anxieties, emnities, and all the other ities you've carried around since childhood. You read and meditate. Take lots of deep breaths. Think you've got 'em licked. And then you have a kid and they all come flooding back to you as if your ego were pregnant and its water just broke ... all over your psyche.
