My Kid in Journal

is really cute, and so am I.
Every time we go out- which is usually to the jump park these days since it’s 4F outside rn- the adults fawn over my son. Don’t get me wrong- he’s stinkin’ adorable. He just has that fresh, rosy cheeked, round-tummied, trundly, chuckle-y little toddler/baby thing going on. He’s also just… built. Like, the kid has the physique of a gymnast. Which, I suppose is not that surprising, as I used to be one. And, I still for the most part look like one, too.
Sometimes, genetics smiles upon us, but I don’t really believe that it’s just genetics. I don’t believe that it’s just genetics because I see the results of perfectly healthy and well-formed parents who have not cared for their nutrition or their baby’s prenatally or post-natally, and the children are frail. Thin. Small. Their skulls are thin. They are short. Their limbs are spindly, their shoulders and hips are narrow, and they cannot perform either mentally or physically. And, they never smile, or chuckle for no reason, or get lost and feel a sense of adventurous accomplishment. They seem anxious, depressed, unhappy, and uncoordinated.
I just think that a really healthy body, and a really well developed, confident, emotionally resilient children are a rarity. I mean, it’s not like there aren’t a ton of other kids at the jump park. Dozens. It’s all kids! They’re all over. Yet my son gets so much attention and so many compliments because he’s just a rarity. No one’s seen an “old fashioned” baby in decades. Decades. Uhg. How tragic.
And I find myself sometimes in conversation with a parent. I observe their tiny, frail, pale, child and I feel a sickening, sinking sensation. I cannot talk to them for long, because I will just start to express my concern. “What is he eating? Oh? Can he tolerate goats milk? Have you tried just the yolk? Do you do probiotics? Does he sleep well?” etc etc etc, on and on and on. It’s all I can think, and if the parent is offended, or whatever, then we part ways never to meet again. It’s not even that I usually say anything (I haven’t, except for once that I recall) but the concern in my posture or expression is probably enough. And I ask, why is a total stranger more concerned about the state of your child than you are? I don’t know. I never will either, I don’t think, because the lack of concern that produced the child in question will not be likely to endure my concern.
I am more impressed by my observation of children in the local papers. The public schools all publish articles from time to time, usually with an accompanying picture of a class, and I find myself staring at the faces of the children. I will scan them all, and pause like a detective on any face that shows even a hint of a broad well-formed jaw or the relaxed expression of secure happiness. They’re not more than one in a hundred or so. And I wonder, I find, what that child’s parent’s did differently and if it was a happy accident or a conscious effort to raise a healthy human. I lean more toward the latter, because even for me, I understand the temptation to ease back toward comfort or negligence. Health is work. Life requires concerted effort. There are no accidents of complicated and difficult nature.

The unconscious is a funny thing. Everyone knows that fit people are given more attention, are more attractive, are better respected, and held in higher esteem, than their unfit counterparts. We all take it for granted as a fact of reality. We all sort of take advantage of it (or not) but the fact that we as adults feel the gratification of a healthy body, and keeping it healthy, doesn’t seem to ensure that we value our children’s health. Sometimes I wonder why I value health so much, after observing the ubiquitous lack of health among my peers and contemporaries. I’ve never been really sick. I’ve never been overweight. I’ve never felt tempted to smoke, or to drink too much, or to not be in shape, or… really anything like that. So why do I have an innate sense and value for health? Is it natural? Is everyone else just lacking it? I really don’t know.
But it won’t end well for the kids.