Again, reminded, human children were so weak, so little. Pink little balls of helpless flesh that would suffer and die if not tended to.

Less like animals, more like plants.

"Is your complaint that any child you bear would be too helpless to attend to itself? My children are not born unformed, I bear only gods, and the servants of gods. Whatever is powerful enough to tear itself from my womb and fly into the universe." Her tone is softening, her expression becoming more tender.

"Poor creature, I understand now."

Weak, sickly children who can't take care of themselves, now she gets it.