My mom is so excited about my brother's newborn infant. She keeps sending pictures of the baby to my phone, so I keep commenting "Cute!" or replying with the heart emoji. On the surface, I'm happy that they're happy; but, more than anything, I feel a deep sadness on account of that poor child, because I know that the world she'll inherit is a literal Hell. Am I the only one who knows this secret: that babies grow up? (It seems like a truth that we all might infer, seeing as we all once were infants ourselves.) Perhaps this thought-free celebration of new life is what happens when one reaches a certain level of desperation: One simply cannot acknowledge the bleak reality of the future any longer; instead, one fixes one's focus intensely on whatever fits of bliss the present instant has to offer. Squeezing blood from a stone.
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