I had a frighteningly realistic dream last night about my future son, Liam. He was blonde and brown eyed, and he looked more like Mark than like me. He was about a year old, barely toddling, not really talking, learning so fast I couldn't keep up. He was playing with the dog, playing with Mark, nursing...I woke up crying. I spent all morning thinking about whether or not we could pull off a baby right now.
We can't, of course, and I don't think I'd even want to if we could. But where does this fucking feeling come from, then?