Generally, I feel pretty good about choosing to raise pets instead of people. I don't have anything against mothers or their kids. After all, I have one of the former--a pretty good one--and I am one of the latter. But lots of screaming, buying expensive toys and clothes, and going to 8am soccer games on Saturday mornings just aren't for me right now.
But when Brewster has diarrhea, eats the diarrhea because it has tempting chunks of half-digested sweet potato, and then vomits the diarrhea he just ate, I wonder if maybe I should be focusing my nurturing tendencies on a creature a little less interested in its own feces.
Of course, when I wake up in the middle of the night and find this warm
little ball of fur tucked up under my arm, I always decide I made the right
choice after all. Always.
Even when he has diarrhea vomit breath.