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"there is no love like the love for your child"

spellbound new parents agree

it overflows

all consuming

unbearably exhausting yet exhilarating

the knowingness of this unique imperative

the deep understanding of true innocence and fragility

mirrored in our own certainty of a novel, binding, heart-to-heart tether

should any pain ever befall this precious untouched being.

 

that moment of transition into parenthood

locks us away into a previously unexplored room

housing an altered meaning of life laid bare

how blind we had been to it before

and as the door closes shut behind us

so too does our unimpeded access

to the experience of childhood.

 

but isn't it something of a tragedy

this collective cultural understanding

that the utmost tier of adoration is reserved

for one's own offspring

when really, doesn't all love have the potential to be infinite?

 

what would it be like

if we all knew we could pry open that door

for any child that isn't our own

for adults we don't share a bed with

for the full extent of human existence--

what if the deepest magic of being a person could be

not a special room

but the most expansive open meadow

filled with treasures beyond any human's lived experience

containing our unending capacity to love a being with which we have nothing in common

and be just as consumed by the fervour of that reverence

as gazing into our own infant's eyes.

 

because each of us has been that yearning child

and that padlocked room of parental devotion

may come with a special set of complications

because loving a person that is also part you

can rapidly transform into a mirror

wiith disconcerting dissonance

when the reflection breaks character--

especially so when they most closely mimic a memory

perceived with some new clarity

of what our reflection could have

should have

done differently--

and of course time offers experience

and wisdom

and understanding--

but also distance

and everything looks and feels differently from far enough away.

 

and of course a child can love infinitely

so instinctively exploring that meadow with an entirety of their senses

grubby hands

wide eyes

dripping noses

mouths unencumbered by the bounds of edibility

ears that somehow only filter out the word "no".

 

and not everyone eventually uncovers that previously unexplored room

but we are all children, once--

or maybe eternally

if we can leave the door cracked open

to the infinite meadow.