Let's do a little creative visualization: You are the first mother in the history of the human race. One day, something starts growing inside your uterus, kicking and leaching nutrients for nine months before choosing one of the smallest holes on your body to emerge from. After unimaginable pain, you find yourself holding the tiny and slimy little ball of screaming flesh who put you through this. What do you do?
My instinct tells me to Sigourney Weaver that little alien. Send it out into the cold abyss of space where it belongs.
Good thing I'm not a mother. No, instead that first mother looked at that thing, and rather than grabbing the nearest sharp rock, she loved it.
Since then, mothers around the world have been upholding that tradition and loving their slimy little flesh balls as well, wiping their butts, mouths, and tears (hopefully with different towels) along the way.