What is it about holding a baby that makes you feel better when you’re coping with a loss? Maybe it’s a circle of life type of thing. Every person lost is someone’s loved one, and every baby born is someone’s little squish monster, love, cuddle bunny.
Ebb and flow. Wax and wane. Life and death.
Plus, aside from when they shit themselves, babies just kind of smell good.
Also, everything is new and wonderful in their eyes. Your hair, your jewelry, you clothes, rocks, sticks, bugs. They just want to grab hold of life and the world and shove it in their mouths and taste it, too.
There’s no fear in them. They’re so new, and everything is new to them, and they haven’t the slightest clue how terrifying the world can be. So they’re just little bundles of light and optimism.
It’s freaking magic and infectious, because when you’re holding them, you realize that they have a chance to not have all the fucked up shit you’ve had in your life in theirs.
Or maybe their drool is just a natural anti-depressant, heartbreak numbing supplement.
Either way, I think I need to do a lot of babysitting.
And please don’t misunderstand me. I still don’t want my own. I just want to borrow one that I can give back.