Stupid biology.

Remember the lamentation? All of those complaints were valid.

And yet, one look at my sleeping baby takes it all away. And he's not even a baby. He's four. He can write his own name. He can write my name. But, one look at those lashes, the sweaty curls, his little hand against his freckled cheek, and all of my exhaustion and resentment evaporates.

Yea, though I am his slave, I weep not for I have looked upon him while he slept. Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, maternal instinct and biology have conditioned me to think that that is a pretty good deal.

Stupid biology.