babies

Like stars are to the sky, so are the children to our world. They deserve to shine!

When feeding your children, do you want to fill their tummies? Or nourish their bodies?

A woman's body does a thousand different things, toils, runs, studies, fantasizes, invents, wearies, and meanwhile the breasts enlarge, the lips of the sex swell, the flesh throbs with a round life that is yours, your life, and yet pushes elsewhere, draws away from you although it inhabits your belly, joyful and weighty, felt as a greedy impulse and yet repellent, like an insect's poison injected into a vein.

High powered radio frequency (RF) transmitters really need to be reclassified as an industrial application and banned out of residential communities that have developing babies and children.

For my sake,_ he said firmly, addressing the air in front of him as though it were a tribunal, __ dinna want ye to bear another child. I wouldna risk your loss, Sassenach,_ he said, his voice suddenly husky. __ot for a dozen bairns. I__e daughters and sons, nieces and nephews, grandchildren__eans enough.__e looked at me directly then, and spoke softly.__ut I__e no life but you, Claire.__e swallowed audibly, and went on, eyes fixed on mine.__ did think, though . . . if ye do want another child . . . perhaps I could still give ye one.

Let your child be the torch of truth and they shall shine over the entirety of the human society brightening even the darkest corners.

Do not raise creepy crawlers my dear braveheart parents. Raise mighty humans with Himalayan strength in their veins. Give them the voice that has gone extinct in today__ society. And if there is only one thing you could give to your children, then give them courage _ courage to pursue their passion _ courage to trample every obstacle in their path _ courage to keep walking even when their heart bleeds in agony.

Let your children nourish their knack, for that knack shall one day provide them with the way to live with dignity and contentment.

Human making is our mission, but if you break the very soul of the would-be humans, then there will be no human to raise.

There is nothing glorious about creating life out of passionate penetration. Even the animals can do that. The real glory comes when the life you create becomes the help in the lives of countless other humans.

Pamela produced placid babies. "They don't tend to turn feral until they're two," she said.

Everybody who has a baby thinks everybody who hasn't a baby ought to have a baby,Which accounts for the success of such plays as the Irish Rose of Abie,The idea apparently being that just by being fruitfulYou are doing something beautiful,Which if it is trueMeans that the common housefly is several million times more beautiful than me or you.

When Jordan was a baby he sat on top of me much as a fly rests on a hill of dung. And I nourished him as a hill of dung nourishes a fly, and when he had eaten his fill he left me.Jordan...I should have named him after a stagnant pond and then I could have kept him, but I named him after a river and in the flood-tide he slipped away.

It's important for us to explain to our nation that life is important. It's not only life of babies, but it's life of children living in, you know, the dark dungeons of the Internet.

Sebastian it is. You can tell me what a patron saint is later, since I have no knowledge of such things. Sebastian Kane."Sebastian Kane Cannon. You're going to marry me and use my last name, right?""Is that supposed to be a proposal?

We have to actually choose a name," Kane murmured above her head. "We can't keep calling him 'baby.' When he's fifteen he might resent it.

Babies are soft. Anyone looking at them can see the tender, fragile skin and know it for the rose-leaf softness that invites a finger's touch. But when you live with them and love them, you feel the softness going inward, the round-cheeked flesh wobbly as custard, the boneless splay of the tiny hands. Their joints are melted rubber, and even when you kiss them hard, in the passion of loving their existence, your lips sink down and seem never to find bone. Holding them against you, they melt and mold, as though they might at any moment flow back into your body.But from the very start, there is that small streak of steel within each child. That thing that says "I am," and forms the core of personality.In the second year, the bone hardens and the child stands upright, skull wide and solid, a helmet protecting the softness within. And "I am" grows, too. Looking at them, you can almost see it, sturdy as heartwood, glowing through the translucent flesh.The bones of the face emerge at six, and the soul within is fixed at seven. The process of encapsulation goes on, to reach its peak in the glossy shell of adolescence, when all softness then is hidden under the nacreous layers of the multiple new personalities that teenagers try on to guard themselves.In the next years, the hardening spreads from the center, as one finds and fixes the facets of the soul, until "I am" is set, delicate and detailed as an insect in amber.

Don't stand unmoving outside the door of a crying baby whose only desire is to touch you. Go to your baby. Go to your baby a million times. Demonstrate that people can be trusted, that the environment can be trusted, that we live in a benign universe.