A Fat Baby Paradox

I met a fat baby today. Not just plump. But gloriously, magnificently rotund. The kind with rolls cascading down their arms like gentle waves with cheeks so full they seemed to be storing joy for later. It was outside my gym, and while I had been working hard to shed unwanted kilos this young lass was revelling in a sweetness so profound, it is only rivalled by her inability to realise it. I found myself involuntarily smiling, a cheshire twinkle I barely feel crosses my face that much these days (it’s pretty much reserved for cute babies and adorable pups). A solitary moment where I could set aside an adult cynicism I didn’t know I had acquired just in that moment, sharing my toothy grin with hers.

But then something shifted.

There’s a purity unattainable in this complete unawareness. She lives just in this moment, her world defined by the radius of her reach—a set of keys, a parent’s smile, the texture of whatever soft food she smooshes between her fingers. She has no concept of climate reports, economic instability, or the existential dread that seems to permeate my own existence. Her joy is unburdened by the knowledge of a dim future—a curse of adulthood that only becomes real when you turn to face it.

I know too much and in equal parts feel like it’s not enough.

Watching her, I feel an instinctive hope but know, both intellectually and viscerally it’s merely the genetic rumblings of a distant past. Here was a chunky cherub, rolls rippling, radiating pure joy. But then, thoughts unbidden, irrevocable, hungry for the oxygen of my mind, comes the fear. What kind of world will she grow into? Will she inherit the mess we’ve made, or will we find a way to turn things around? These emotions—hope and despair—collide in me with equal force, a rivalry I can’t seem to reconcile. Perhaps it’s because she represents both the miracle of life and the tragedy of what we’ve done with it.

Her existence is a futile reminder of what’s at stake.

I keep coming back to that baby—her chubby cheeks, her bubbling euphoria, her radiant oblivion. She exists in a world of contradictions, a living reminder of what we’ve built and what we are knowingly destroying. Her presence challenges me, not because she asks for it, but because she can’t. She doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t know about the storms we’ve seeded, wildfires burnt, seasons eroded, debts racked, social fractures conjured. She doesn’t know that she is a gift and a burden, entrusted to a generation too gutless, too greedy and too blind to truly realise her worth.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the paradox isn’t meant to be resolved. Maybe it’s meant to ache. To gnaw at us until we can’t ignore it anymore. To remind us that the world is beautiful and broken, and that we’re the ones who have to live with both. So I’ll hold onto her image—a small, stubborn light in a world that seems determined to snuff itself out. Not because it fixes anything, but because it reminds us that it’s worth trying. Even if it’s too late. Even if it’s not enough. Even if all we can do is bear witness to the mess we’ve made and hope that she’ll forgive us.

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Banner image by Black Forest Labs

Model: Flux Ultra v1.1

Prompt: A dreamlike, abstract painting with blurred, flowing shapes that suggest the joy and innocence of a baby, layered over darker, heavier textures that evoke the weight of the world. The piece feels like a collision of lightness and gravity, with soft pinks, yellows, and whites blending into deep blues, grays, and blacks. The baby’s presence is felt but not explicitly seen.