When an infant is plucked and/or pushed from the womb, they arrive into an aircon-induced freezing room, screaming their lungs out. And if they don’t cry, some sadistic gynecologist who’s not getting any, would smack their little butts. I reckon they don’t want to face the bright lights and would simply rather just crawl back into that warm space in Mom’s belly where they were doing the backstroke moments before. Or maybe they cry because they’ve seen their Dad for the first time. Or maybe that’s how they transition from amphibian to human. I don’t know. What I do know is that they don’t cry because of what they look like.
Babies don’t care what they look like. Even if they knew they were covered in some red/white mucus like goo. Little humans just want to eat, sleep, poop and pee. And be left alone for the rest of the time. They don’t care if they look funny. Or whether they have hair. Or whether they’re a little fat. Or even how ridiculous they look when they smile without one single tooth in their mouths. They will happily play in the mud with any other kid who happens to stroll by. Continue reading