Yesterday, I held baby Abigail. Yesterday, I held baby Abigail and I felt like thirty four years of wonder, of fear, of chaos, of investigation were put to rest. She held me as I held her—still to the disquiet, to the comings and goings, the constant change that has been haunting me for years. I sometimes wish I could stay still with every easy routine, every simple care and thought and meal. It’s like everything I’ve ever done has been interrupted constantly. And I held baby Abigail and I was still like a domino standing. All I could think of was how time flies but here I am still and Abigail will be a baby tomorrow and the next day until she too is running and conversing like the children around me. Babies take time to grow, to be nurtured, and to be fully capable of taking on this world. All parents can do is one day let go.
She felt like the softest fabric lost in the gentle wind. My finger spanned her whole hand. “One day you will be twirling people around those little fingers”, I think now, looking back at the occasion. She was the size of two footballs and gushed out songs with her crying shouts. She wanted everyone to know the size of her lungs, so tiny but so vocal. She had her hair pointed up with a pink hair clip like her sister’s. Her hair was soft and short. One day her hair will be flowing and unkempt and teased and crimped and knotted into endless shapes. Not today: her hair was short, soft and done up in a tiny point at the end of her head. Her eyes will one day be able to discern all the activity around her but not today. She’s being cared for. Her brown eyes gently peer out at the world which awes in amazement. She makes people melt into pools of wonder. She will one day be her own, independent person but today the little world fits nicely into that little palm.