Perfect

The thing is, I was given a perfect little baby and I am scared I will screw it up, and he will ask me why on earth I ever wanted to create him out of nothing.

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I still cannot come to terms with the absurdity and near impossibility of creation.

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And now it’s supposed to be easy, I sleep when he sleeps, I feed him when he smacks his lips, and I hold him close when he cries. But somehow I still find an hour or two every once in a while to cry my eyes out. These are the tears he knows, from when he was still inside, when I had hardly anything else circulating in my system to nourish him but tears, and he just stares into my eyes, innocent but still omniscient, and I cry even harder.

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