I Tried to "Be Present" and Accidentally Made Unsettling Eye Contact With a Baby Who Seemed to Know Too Much

He blinked. I blinked. We're spiritually linked forever now.

I wasn't even planning on having a spiritual crisis at brunch. Those are usually reserved for those early morning hours when I'm staring at my ceiling wondering why I said "you too" to the movie ticket person who told me to enjoy the movie.

But there I was sitting in a cafe that charged $19 for avocado toast because it had organic microgreens and came on bread that definitely had a European accent. I was trying to practice mindfulness or presence or whatever you want to call that thing where you attempt to exist in the moment instead of dissociating so hard you astral project to a different dimension.

My therapist suggested it. She said I spend too much time "living in my head" and not enough time "engaging with the present moment." Which is honestly an attack on my entire personality because living in my head is basically my brand at this point.

So I decided to try this whole mindfulness thing. I put my phone down. I took a deep breath. I looked around the cafe to notice five things I could see, four I could touch, three I could hear—you know the drill. I was doing the thing.

And that's when I saw him.

A baby.

Not just any baby. This was a baby with an agenda.

He was sitting at the table across from me in one of those high chairs that seem specifically designed to collect food in crevices no human will ever be able to clean. His mom was deep in conversation with someone who looked like they exclusively drank green juice and went on yoga retreats where people cried about their childhood.

This baby couldn't have been more than a year old. Little wisps of hair that defied gravity. Cheeks that looked like someone had stuffed marshmallows under his skin. The standard-issue baby uniform of a onesie with an animal on it that was either a fox or a dog—I'm bad at identifying both baby clothes and woodland creatures.

But his eyes.

His eyes were what I can only describe as ancient. Like this baby had been around for centuries watching empires rise and fall and was deeply unimpressed by all of it.

Our eyes met across the cafe, and I swear to god time stopped.

You know how most babies look at you with that vacant stare that suggests they're still loading their human software update? This was not that look. This baby looked at me like he knew exactly how many times I've googled my ex after we broke up 5 years ago. Like he knew I still don't understand how tax brackets work despite being a full adult. Like he knew I sometimes put on documentaries so people think I'm smart but then switch to reality TV after they leave.

He knew things. Too many things.

And I couldn't look away. Because the second rule of encountering an all-knowing baby is that you don't break eye contact first. I don't know what the first rule is, but that one felt important in the moment.

So we stared at each other. Me, a grown woman with student loan debt and a plant I can't keep alive. Him, an infant who somehow looked like he had tenure at a prestigious university and was disappointed in my life choices.

Twenty seconds passed. Then thirty.

His mom was still talking about her chakras or her Peloton or whatever conversations happen at brunches like this.

Forty seconds.

The baby blinked. I felt like I'd won something but also lost everything.

Then he did something worse than stare. He smiled at me. Not a normal baby smile that makes you go "aww" and temporarily forget that humans are destroying the planet.

No.

This was a smile that said "I see you. I know what you did. And I'll be watching."

I almost knocked over my $7 coffee. Because what do you do when a baby who clearly has access to the secrets of the universe singles you out in a cafe? Do you acknowledge it? Do you run? Do you ask if they have investment advice because clearly they know something about the future that the rest of us don't?

I went with option four. I smiled back awkwardly while having a minor mental breakdown.

And then he pointed at me. A tiny index finger aimed directly at my soul.

His mom noticed and turned around. "Oh, he's so friendly," she said, as if her child wasn't currently serving as a vessel for cosmic knowledge beyond human comprehension.

"So cute," I managed to say, my voice approximately three octaves higher than normal.

The baby kept staring. I kept staring back.

Then the baby did something that made me question my entire reality. He waved. But not a normal baby wave that looks like they're trying to shake water off their hands. A deliberate, slow-motion wave that felt like it carried the weight of a thousand ancient prophecies.

I waved back because what else do you do when an oracle trapped in the body of a tiny human acknowledges your existence?

The mom laughed. "He loves meeting new people."

Does he though? Or does he recognize souls he's encountered across multiple dimensions and timelines?

I spent the rest of my brunch in a state of profound unease. The baby occasionally glanced over, each time with that same knowing look. I tried to return to my mindfulness exercise, but how can you focus on your breathing when there's a pint-sized prophet two tables over who seems to be holding silent judgment on your life choices?

When I finally left, I walked past their table. The baby reached out and grabbed my finger for a second. His grip was surprisingly strong for someone whose main skill set is drooling and babbling.

"Sorry about that," his mom said, gently untangling his fingers from mine.

"No problem," I replied, though it very much was a problem because I'm pretty sure that in some ancient culture, this means we're now cosmically bound for eternity.

The baby made direct eye contact one last time and made a sound that was somewhere between a giggle and the noise a door makes in a horror movie right before something terrible happens.

I left the cafe and immediately texted my therapist that maybe being present isn't for me after all. Living in my head might have its problems, but at least there aren't any all-knowing babies there judging me for how many times I've rewatched the same three shows instead of expanding my cultural horizons.

So that's how I ended up spiritually connected to a baby who I'm convinced was either an old soul, an interdimensional being, or possibly just a regular baby with really good eye contact skills.

Either way, I'm never making direct eye contact with anyone under the age of five ever again. The risk of accidental prophecy is simply too high.

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