Every Breath is Momentous
Two weeks ago I got the text I’d been waiting months for. One of my closest friends had gone into labour and delivered a baby boy.
I have no idea what went on the rest of the work day. I just fluttered around ineffectually, counting down the milliseconds until I could hop in a cab to the hospital.
Somehow, my magical friends had managed to turn their curtained-off corner of a hospital room shared with another newborn and his 25 visiting siblings singing wheels on the bus into a cozy little cocoon. It was as if there was nothing but the three of them in the world before I peeked in.
The love in that place was palpable and contagious, a visible glittery swirl through the shimmer of tears that kept welling up in my eyes when I stared at the gorgeous wee creature in my friend’s arms.
It’s strange how someone so teeny, who really doesn’t do anything can be positively fascinating.
Every tiny breath is momentous.
As I held him, he held me too – absolutely riveted.
I just stared and stared and stared, mesmerized by his perfect little lips and his fingernails and his amazingly full head of downy hair. My heart stopped at every tiny squeak he made.
He cried once, just after I whispered “Remember me? I’m the one always talking your mom’s ear off! You know all my secrets!”
But I like to think that was just a coincidence.
What an honour and a privilege it is to meet someone in the first 24 hours of their life, in the precious few fleeting moments before their world expands by leaps and bounds, then expands and expands again.
When every single wonderful thing in this whole wide world has yet to be discovered, we’re all born tiny adventurers.
I sometimes wonder if I were to adopt, (which seems like it might be my best shot at having children), if I might have trouble bonding with a baby not biologically linked to me or my partner, but if the way I felt about this little fella within ten seconds is any indication, it shouldn’t be a problem. Because guys?
I’m totally in love.