About the book: 2021 / Throughout my pregnancy I felt a catch. My son was born three years ago. No, not like that. Three years ago I gave birth to something from which I made my son. It, something, screamed all night long, it peed and pooped on itself, on me and on the whole world around me. It could not speak, sit, stand or walk. His drool was dripping, his teeth were growing, and his crown was tightening. Every second it strove to kill itself with an electric shock, a chair, dichlorvos, a vacuum cleaner, a nail, just by itself. I survived years without sleep, I didn’t die until his last tooth, I taught him to sit, walk, sing, draw, poop, write, count and read. At the age of four, my son knows the basics of mental arithmetic, he memorizes huge poems and wins competitions. I did it! So what do you think? It's all down the drain! All my many years of work, invested heart, soul, nervous system, eaten liver - and all this was in vain? I have another substance lying on my hands, pooping and peeing around the perimeter, without teeth, brains... How? What, all over again?