It blows my mind that everyone was a baby once. Everyone. The president, my mailman, uber drivers, you name it. We all came into this world with the same level of dependence and helplessness. We were all equals, once.
When you really think about that — the fact that every adult you know spent years wearing diapers, drinking from a bottle and sleeping in a crib — it somehow levels the playing field. As adults, there’s so much competition to be a certain way, from the clothes we wear to the jobs we seek, that it’s hilarious to consider that as little ones, we were all pudgy schmucks who wore footie pajamas and spit up on ourselves.
When I watch the babies at Lila’s daycare interact, they are shamelessly oblivious. If one of them happens to have a meltdown, or poops himself, no one bats an eye. “You wanna wipe your boogers on the floor? Cool. I’m gonna eat this block.”
These kiddos are in it to win it with themselves, in a blissful stage where no outside influences have permeated their psyche. I wish some of this freedom transferred to grown ups. Just not the public pooping.