Saturday, February 14, 2015

I Wish I Was a Baby

Bear with me for a second. Just think about it. 

Being a baby is DOPE! This is what I was thinking as I helped a friend strap her 18 month-old daughter into her car seat the other night. 

She looked so warm and content as her mom secured her into her cozy little nest in the back of the car. She smiled and stuck her thumb in her mouth, apparently happy and satisfied after having eaten a delicious meal of sweet potato french fries, broccoli, and steak cut up into tiny little pieces while everyone around cooed and smiled at her undeniable cuteness.

Sure, being a baby is scary, in the sense that you have zero idea what's going to happen at any given moment, and you are completely vulnerable and at the mercy of the adults and the world around you.

On the other hand, IF (and only if) you're lucky enough to be well cared for, you have someone waiting on you hand and foot. They keep feeding you and playing with you and carrying you around in a cozy carrier and making you take naps (which is basically the most amazing activity on earth, even though you don't realize it and actually resent it).

You have no idea that the world is full of war, famine, disease, poverty, dictators, divorce, paperwork, taxes, death, lawyers, accountants, insurance, checkbook balancing, heartbreak, failure, rejection, pain, and all manner of bullshit that you will one day need to deal with on a very real and extremely unjuicy level.

As far as you're concerned, the only things that exist on planet earth are car seats, fleece, cheese sticks, apple sauce, titties, Usborne touch n' feel books, mobiles, rubber duckies, bubbles, the Pandora kids station, and Melissa & Doug stacking toys. 

Yup, life is pretty damn sweet when you're a well-attended baby.

And the thing is, if you're lucky enough to reach adulthood and have your mom around, and have any level of a decent rapport with her, it sort of takes you back to that time and that feeling.

My mom is visiting this week. I'm 37 and she is turning 70 this year. Yet when she walked off the plane, I put my face in her neck and breathed in that warm, familiar mom smell that activates the most primal areas of the human brain and that somehow makes you feel like a baby for just a few seconds again. Indeed, my mom has stories from medical school of 90 year old people on their death beds, asking for their mothers.

And I sort of suspect that no matter how old I get, or how many responsibilities I have, part of me will always want to be a baby again.

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