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Tuesday 200 - #47

I adore babies when they’re sound asleep in their strollers, so peaceful and secure. They haven’t a care in the world and pay no heed to the bustling city streets they’re being pushed through.

I couldn’t help but notice one next to me at the bus stop this morning. He was wearing blue corduroy OshKosh overalls and was wrapped in a Piglet blanket. The teenisest rivulet of pink drool was caked on the left corner of his mouth.

His mother gently rocked the stroller back and forth with one hand and dug through her purse with the other. She pulled out a bottle of liquid antihistamine, gave me a sneer through her imitation Gucci sunglasses, and took a swig.

“Hay fever season,” I nodded, smiling at her slumbering angel.

“Uh huh." She reached into the carriage and grabbed her boy’s bottle. With a flick of her wrist, the top was unscrewed and the remains of the allergy tonic were poured in.

As the crosstown coach pulled up, she closed the baby bottle, placed it back onto her son’s chest, and sucked out the last drops of cherry syrup.

“Better living through Benadryl,” she grunted, heaving the stroller into the bus.
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