on birth

Remember last week when I said I was going to write something on superheroes?  Yeah, that was a lie.  This week, however, I have caught up with Sunday Scribblings.  "The topic is birth?" I thought disappointedly when I saw the prompt. "Is there anyone who isn't trying to convince me to have a baby?"

(Although I do feel justified in buying the occasional, exceptionally adorable baby clothing item now that I'm married, there is no bun in the oven, no pea in the pod, and no other clever food-related euphemism cooking in my kitchen.)

Babies are an interesting bunch.  I don't have one, and I don't remember being one, and I don't know one that can speak very intelligently, so all my experience is speculation--but how weird it must be to be a baby!  Whenever movies portray the thoughts of a wee one, the narrative is always in full sentences and coherent statements, as if the baby has the thoughts of an adult but no way to convey them.  It's pretty obvious that this isn't true, but as hard as I try, I can't imagine living in that state of not knowing--not knowing how to speak, not knowing how to formulate a thought, not knowing how to keep food in your mouth.  When we're born, I think it's safe to say that we have no knowledge, no recollection, because we have no earthly experiences to know or recall.  In its very basic and original meaning--the appearance of a brand-new being--"birth" entails a complete lack of intellectual past (at least in a mortal sense). 

As you all know, because I am the product of years immersed in the study of the English language, I like words.  I am a Scrabble-playing, thesaurus-using nerd, and it's interesting to me the way in which we use the word "birth."  When a style of thought comes back around, we use it (e.g., "the rebirth of classicism").  When someone is spiritually converted, we use it (e.g., "born-again Christian").  However, even if something is new or transformed or cleaned, it can't really be birthed again, because being new or transformed or cleaned is relative to a state in which it was before.  Therefore, its new existence is based on past thoughts and mortal experiences to draw from, which influences the new state and is arguably different from the product of a experience-less birth in nature. 

"Katie, this is all very dull," you're thinking. "Is there a point here?"

Probably not.  Or, if there is, I haven't had the jolt of inspiration that will lead me to it.  Isn't it interesting, though, how we as a society are so inspired by "re-births" or "new beginnings"?  You really can't be re-born, or start over, but you can certainly change--which is what the process entails, but not what people call it.  Perhaps the word "birth" seems more final than "progression," but it also seems more idealistic and more sudden, which is probably the appealing part.  Births and deaths seem to require a lot less effort than all the stuff in the middle.