People seem to think they should lock-pick or kick their way through solid doors rather than just take a ten-dollar drywall knife and carve whole new hallways into the world. Those people are mere slaves to architecture, spatial captives in a world someone else has designed for them.
Perhaps they'll grow up courageous, finding joy in all of life, filled with wonder and hope despite all the pain before them. Or perhaps they'll only resent their lifetime of agony, in which they themselves had no say at all. But you can't know, now. Now, faced with your tiny bundle of miswrapped baby, you must choose for them, and you may never know if it was the right choice. But you'll have to live with that choice regardless.