Whoozyerbaby should be very grateful that she is not at all processed and ready to devour.

From her round cheeks to her eyes as deep and blue as the North Shore she is a delicacy intended for only one of my internal organs. It is my heart that wants to envelope her and I couldn't stomach life without her. Ever.

Because there are endless other reasons why I would want to eat every last chunk of her plump, pink perfection:

As her birth approached the message was sent from my brain cells to my blood cells and through the placenta "Put the brakes on it, kid. You are not ready. To join. The world. I am not ready to share you with the world." She came almost 2 weeks early in blatant disregard of Mama's missive; didn't heed my message, "Oh shit, Mom, sorry, I didn't get that email. are you sure you sent it? I looked everywhere..." She's not one to stop. Once she joined us it was game over. She was no longer the hidden vintage in my dark, damp cellar. No time for snuggling. Whoozyerbaby is Action Baby. But that doesn't mean there's no warmth to her. She is light transmuted to human form. This face has L-O-V-E written ALL OVER IT.