Breakfast is Now Served

I had to fight the urge this morning to rub butter all over Ever Jane, powder her with confectioner's sugar, plop a dollop of vanilla pudding on her head and eat her for brunch.

I know, not all mothers come with a tempting sense of parental cannibalism. I learned this when I wrote about desiring to eat The Chief smothered in a peanut curry sauce when he was five months old. Readers were like "Ewwww c jane. That's just weird."

When I read those comments I started to feel a little insecure, was it wrong of me want to ingest a baby between two buns slathered in barbecue sauce and melted swiss cheese? Also, lettuce, pickle and tomato? Maybe bacon? Uppity mustard? So I did what any sensible insecure person would do, I googled "animals who eat their young."

Turns out, humans are not on the list of species who eat their young. So maybe I am weird. BUT it also turns out no one really knows why evolution created filial cannibalism in the first place. Maybe extra protein? My hypothesis is this: if the scientific community could've seen Ever Jane this morning they'd have their answer.

Because mmmmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmmmm.

Stop all studies! We figured it out!

Is what they'd say.


If Ever grows up and doesn't like me one day (it happens, you know) I'll quickly remind her,

"You're lucky I didn't eat you when I had the chance."

In an omelette, dripping with syrup, washed down with a fresh glass of orange juice.

Like a mama wolf spider at IHOP.

I am c jane and I resist the urge to eat my young. Seasoned with Lowry's. Garlic butter. Sprinkled with Parmesan.
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