There is always at least one moment in time in which people are happy with their babies. At least one moment that they can hold them up to a mirror and smile at each other’s reflections and agree this is a good thing. The dissatisfaction sets in later if it does.
Everyone was someone’s baby once, even if no one likes to think about it much. Babies are babies after all, not humans but proto-humans.
I was someone’s baby once, even though I know nobody thinks about it at all. I must have been held up to mirrors too like all the babies I see are held up to the big plasticky mirror in the main classroom.
There must have been hopes and dreams for me, maybe even wishes too. No one could have known what the future held.
No one could have even guessed.