Grand-baby arrived before Christmas
before his due date-by design. His perfect body
a beauty to behold, cuddly and warm
sleepy one moment, hungry
the next, eyes curious to see who is holding him.
Now almost a month old, his demands are revealed
by the twitch of the mouth, the wrinkles on the forehead he makes
before he wakes, the rooting motions of his entire little body looking for that
maternal place where love and nutrition rest, and unexpected loud
wailing at some yet unidentified intervals.
He looks like his father, and his mother too, and his
uncles and cousins, and way back to his namesake grand-
grand-parents. His red fuzzy head keeps the line going, the
hope of lineage marked.
What new things will he do today?
Stare and smile at that Chagall's painting
in the guest room where he cuddles with me?
Will he turn toward the blinds, fascinated by the shadows they make?
Or, will he suddenly smile at my big glasses knowing he's not in
his mother's arms?
Our singing and rocking define our little moments,
little hands in big hands, his burping and tummy cries
just like mine, at importune moments
all adding lyrics to our talk- lullabies
between dog's barking, time passing, day breaking...
We close our eyes, he fitting snugly on my chest, tummy down right after a meal, dozing off, with me ever watchful: how is he breathing, does anything obstruct his mouth and nose, is he warm enough, contained enough, free enough to allow every little movement his tiny legs and hands aspire to, can he be re-positioned easily, for burping, for a pacifier, for masking the bright lights...
And as winds and rains and snow pummel the world
this town shows mercy this January, breaking a sunny ray now and then,
a bit of kindness to this child
born in the deep of winter
just as the new Pope's comments are beneficial
to him and all babes who need nursing at
inconvenient times.
Just as I was about to throw religion out with the bath water.
before his due date-by design. His perfect body
a beauty to behold, cuddly and warm
sleepy one moment, hungry
the next, eyes curious to see who is holding him.
Now almost a month old, his demands are revealed
by the twitch of the mouth, the wrinkles on the forehead he makes
before he wakes, the rooting motions of his entire little body looking for that
maternal place where love and nutrition rest, and unexpected loud
wailing at some yet unidentified intervals.
He looks like his father, and his mother too, and his
uncles and cousins, and way back to his namesake grand-
grand-parents. His red fuzzy head keeps the line going, the
hope of lineage marked.
What new things will he do today?
Stare and smile at that Chagall's painting
in the guest room where he cuddles with me?
Will he turn toward the blinds, fascinated by the shadows they make?
Or, will he suddenly smile at my big glasses knowing he's not in
his mother's arms?
Our singing and rocking define our little moments,
little hands in big hands, his burping and tummy cries
just like mine, at importune moments
all adding lyrics to our talk- lullabies
between dog's barking, time passing, day breaking...
We close our eyes, he fitting snugly on my chest, tummy down right after a meal, dozing off, with me ever watchful: how is he breathing, does anything obstruct his mouth and nose, is he warm enough, contained enough, free enough to allow every little movement his tiny legs and hands aspire to, can he be re-positioned easily, for burping, for a pacifier, for masking the bright lights...
And as winds and rains and snow pummel the world
this town shows mercy this January, breaking a sunny ray now and then,
a bit of kindness to this child
born in the deep of winter
just as the new Pope's comments are beneficial
to him and all babes who need nursing at
inconvenient times.
Just as I was about to throw religion out with the bath water.
You've captured the cuddle joy of a newborn. . . it's my favorite thing to do, cradling a little baby. Besides the spot for nutrition, the breasts are in the right place for a baby's tummy to fit as he's held at the shoulder, a little extra pressure right where it's needed for the gurgling tummy. I love your last line, too.
ReplyDeletesmiles...i know you are enjoying that...i love it when their little personalities start to come out....and the baby will be better off
ReplyDeletefor having multiple generations that rear him.....
and ha on that final realization as well....
I can almost smell his sweet baby scent from here.. and your love and pride is palpable.
ReplyDeleteWonderful, Rosaria. I hope you plan to set this aside to be presented at some milestone of life. Brilliantly written.
ReplyDeleteOh, wonderful! Such beauty and tenderness…they are amazing. He is a lucky lucky boy to have you in his life.
ReplyDeleteHuge guffaw at your final line!
I loved this post so much. Especially because in the book I'm reading there is a birth scene. everything's come together today: my son's birthday, the birth scene in the novel I'm reading and now your post about a newborn. Beautiful. Many thanks.
ReplyDeleteGreetings from London.
Love, wonder and tenderness in every word. Oh, how a baby brings joy and the miraculous back into life!
ReplyDeleteyou are blessed Rosaria
ReplyDeleteand so is this tiny infant to have you in his life
So happy for you
What a happy post. You are so blessed with new baby. I think a new grandchild is just what I need. I wonder if I can get anyone to cooperate and give me one.
ReplyDeletePhenomenal post, Rosaria. From that delightful baby to the Pope. Life, if examined thoughtfully, can be so wonderful!
ReplyDeleteBlessings and Bear hugs!