Then, after it all, I was handed her. A baby girl. This tiny, purple, squashed, perfect little alien.
I am infected with an alien.
My body has become a treacherous landscape of nope. Within mere weeks the alien has taken command and turned all my senses traitor. My memories of food are full of pot holes and landslides and precarious roads that lead to a rather strong gag reflex unlike anything I’ve so far experienced.
You’re late. Except you’re not that late so it’s okay. It’s nothing to make a fuss over because everyone is late sometimes, right?