Potential made flesh.

The baby is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen. Of course, it’s not aesthetically pleasing, with its smooshed up face and teary eyes. But it could be, sooner than later.

The baby is potential made flesh. It could be anything, an inventor, a fascist, a novelist, or if someone dropped it on its head, a dead baby or a doctor. The possibilities are endless.

The baby, a blank slate for the adults to pin their hopes and dreams on and be disappointed when it does its own thing. This baby is special, will grow to be a well-adjusted individual.

How can you possibly capture the joy of new birth? The hope to be found in a new generation. The anticipation of this baby growing up all too fast. How wonderful is it to carry hope in your arms?

This baby, this wonderful, awe-inspiring baby could grow up to be anything, anything in the entire galaxy. And yet it grew up to be you. How sad.

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