My wife and I are currently in our early thirties. This means we are at that stage in which all of our friends are procreating. Some of them are even on Colossal Life Mistake #2. (We aren’t ready for kids yet.)
Not only do we marvel at the very notion of having children in general, but we discuss the specifics of pregnancy, fetuses and gestation as well. We speak of these things as if they are unknowable ideations communicated to us from some distant galaxy; a galaxy inhabited by aliens so burdened by their own offspring they cannot stand the knowledge that here, on this planet we call Earth, sexy young couples are enjoying Friday and Saturday nights in perfect, uninterrupted tranquility.
So, back in early 2012, The Wife asked if I thought the bond between mothers and their babies formed automatically. She wondered if a new mother would feel an instant connection to her child, or if it happens over time. I told her growing a disgusting infant inside one’s body for the better part of a year probably forms some kind of bond. At least I hope so. (Imagine a sticky little goblin clawing its way toward the light without benefit of maternal bliss to herald its arrival. I shudder at the thought.)
Ignoring this scenario, my wife stroked her chin sagely and nodded in agreement.
THE WIFE: “Yes. They are connected for 9 months by the belly button wire.”
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Oh God, My Wife Is German. 
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