Babyhood – the real salad days 

I’ve been thinking about that question lately that no one ever asks you except in grade school. Remember the question, “If you could be anyone for a day,  who would you be?” Fifty years on I’d no longer answer, “a cardiac surgeon  about to perform open heart surgery or an elite runner competing in the  Boston Marathon or a headliner opening the half-time show at the Super  Bowl.” Nah. I now realize any of those answers would have just added hard work and stress to my life. Now, I’d go low. If I could be anyone for a day, I  would be a chunky baby. 

Has anyone told you lately that your double chins are cute? Or that your flabby thighs are adorable? Not only do babies get to be unabashedly fat but they get complimented on their rotundness. That’s right. No one says to a baby, “you should get more exercise.” On the contrary, adults in their well-meaning way,  are quite happy to volunteer as personal trainers and then some. Yep.

As a baby, I could simply lie on my back, and before you know it, someone would come along and exercise me. They’d wiggle my legs and pull me up by my arms.  They’d lift my bum and turn me over, and then, beaming with pride, they’d praise me for all my hard work. 

Course, no one would be dismayed to see me zonk out for a mid-day nap after such a vigorous work-out. And if I didn’t want to stop at one nap, no one would get on my case if I decided to shoot for two or three. If I then ended up with insomnia in the middle of the night – because of all those darn naps – surely,  someone would be willing to hang out with me. All I’d have to do is holler a lot,  and someone would come along to relieve me of my boredom. 

If I were a baby for a day, I could skip the etiquette. I could eat with my fingers.  I could spit up on my new clothes. I could belch or fart, and no one would roll their eyeballs at me. I could throw my supper dish. Hell, I could drop your smartphone in the toilet. Oops. Now you might not be pleased, but you wouldn’t yell at me. Who yells at a baby? 

Babies don’t know how good they have it. Especially when their parents invite guests over for dinner. Babies get to suck their toes at the dinner table. No one else gets to suck their toes at the dinner table. Babies get to stare at people.  They can get right up in your grill and stare away. And babies get to wear pyjamas to dinner parties. Everyone else is stuck wearing clothes they’d rather rip off. But not you. There’s nothing like a cotton onesie with built-in slippers for mingling in. 

Travelling in an airplane might be the best baby gig of all. Would I worry that my plane might be late? Nope. That my plane might crash? Nope. That my luggage might be lost? Nope. I would enjoy every minute of my flight across the  Atlantic. Being a wee thing, I could easily stretch out across your lap and snooze the whole way. I could tune out the loud humdrum of an airplane engine. And as for jet lag? Come on. I’d stay on my schedule. Get used to it. 

I haven’t even got to the best part about being a baby. Babies smell insanely good. No teeth equals no bad breath. When you smell that good, people just want to hold you and kiss you and snuggle you all the day long. Now, think about that for a minute. How would your day go, if you received as many hugs  as a baby gets in a day? 

In my one day as a baby, I would have endless curiosity. I would explore with all my senses. I would suck blocks and spatulas. I would pull myself up on table legs and curbs. I would be fully immersed in the sensation of my first lick of chocolate ice cream. I would listen intently to the sound of a babbling brook and a barking dog. And I would giggle and smile at all the unexplored marvels of the world. 

Babies really get it. They know how to stick to the fundamentals. How to stick to the present. How to forget about yesterday and not worry about tomorrow. A  baby is, perhaps, the most philosophical of all human beings. After all, they don’t have to meditate to be in the moment. They simply are in the moment. I’d learn a lot that I have long forgotten if I were a baby for a day. 

And so, if it were possible, I would trade my sixty-year-old joints and my arthritic knees for the generously lubricated joints of a baby, if even for one  ]day. And on that day, I would let myself fall ten times and more. It wouldn’t hurt much, I know. But the reward would be worth the fall — for couldn’t we all use a kiss on an ‘owie’ once again? 

Written by Karen A McKinnon, Vernon, BC, Canada