Baby Mania: A cultural universal?

What is it about babies? Particularly human babies, that makes every self-respecting adult suddenly transform into a blithering, googly-eyed imbecile? I’ve always been a big fan of witter ones—puppies, tadpoles, caterpillars, you name it. I’m frequently beheld talking in a high-pitched tone to all juveniles of the animal kingdom, while every man in the room grits his teeth. 

Baby's 1st Selfie!

Baby's 3rd Selfie!

Baby's 2nd Selfie!

Well, you get the idea.

But I’ve noticed with human babies, it’s not just me—it’s everyone else, too.

Take for example my coworker Sapana’s new nephew. He’s plump, brown, and produces a lot of coos and poos. Her family will return home from a hard day’s work, looking utterly wiped, and plop down into their arm chairs. This routine, which I’ve been privy to so often, has been completely confounded by the presence of a new household member. After the brief groaning about a hard day, their worries are absorbed into entertaining themselves with the baby, under the guise of actually entertaining the baby—who, at 3ish months old, hasn’t developed much cognitive function to even be entertained, except that he grins when he poops. Sidenote: I’ve always argued that potty humor is an innate predisposition, and anyone who claims otherwise hasn’t pulled enough of their father’s fingers or been delighted at a baby’s smile, only to unhappily discover a blown-out diaper. At any rate, this baby cuter than a sackful of puppies. And he is so adored by his family. And me. I adore him too. 

Why do we adore them so? Is it because of the novelty of it? Is it because they are just miniaturized people, with perfectly miniature fingernails and noses? Is it some biological imperative to feel smitten and protective of our offspring? Babies are so innocent, so inexperienced. It reminds us of what we’ve grown out of.

Seeing a baby makes us remember when we thought the world was our oyster and helps us to forget that the world is not, in fact, an oyster. Before we realized we are trapped into existence by that one time your mom and dad got a little tipsy at the drive-in and made precisely you.  If you’re the heiress to Boeing, this is good news. But if you’re one the 6.9999 other billion people on earth, it’s a dodgy business, at best.

But, as we know, life is a gauntlet of narrow hallways and glass ceilings and gut punches. Babies deserve to be babied and coddled. “Here love, let me pinch your cheeks and give you some butterfly kisses,” with the subtext of “so you don’t lose heart fresh out of the starting gate.” It’s a mad world, Donnie Darko. And when you realize that somethings you can’t change, no matter how much you try, just keep running that gauntlet. Show us how it’s done, son, and godspeed.

But every time we love on a new member of our earth, we can hope maybe this baby, this one baby, will rattle the cage of its birth—of class, race, space, and time—to the point where the bars weaken and he can just squeeze out to freedom. Futures are bright and you can be all that you can be. Maybe even a Marine. Babies are little half-baked meatloafs of full of hope. We can see our own reflection in that gummy grin and those fat cheeks, before we became jaded and world-weary—and the image looking back at us offers us that vivacious optimism all over again. Babies embody what we wish to see in the world, minus the indiscriminate peeing and pooping.

Nepali Hindus say that on the twelfth day of life, the god comes to you and scribbles your fate on the inside of your skull, just above the eyes, out of sight. Your life is the story he writes for you. In a world where the average life expectancy is barely 65, people still don't have access to healthcare or clean water, and caste and class determines the fates of billions, let’s give a lot of love to our babies. 

After all, we need it.

And, to boot, they are so gosh darn cute.