I like to think about how babies are the same cuddly, bouncy, black-holes-of-need (lawl) today that they were 1,000+ years ago.
I didn’t grow up feeling like I belonged with the family I was born into. I used to imagine that I was secretly adopted, switched at birth, fairy changeling — anything that could explain the void I felt surrounding me, really. Combined with a general sense of alienation from society, I’m kind of a neurotic mess.
But, a long, long time ago, my ancestors kissed their babies’ cheeks the same way I do. They tickled their babies’ tummies, changed their babies’ diapers, and snuggled their babies against their breasts, the same way I do.
I bet they even occasionally got up with headaches after spending the night consoling a fussy baby, just like I do.
And the thought makes me feel like I’m not such an outcast weirdo.
I think that birthing person fiction ought to be an actual genre. Something that others who feel similar to me can relate to.