Newborn

New babies are popping up in the periphery of my days.  I like them there where they feel comfortable in my mid-life:  on the edges being observed, not in the middle growing round and needing me in the middle of the night!  A good friend spent her Thanksgiving holiday with an infant niece and shared the joy of the snuggling.  A new baby girl just arrived into a family parented by fabulous friends of mine.  As I perused photos sent out by the proud father, I felt a flood of memories of my own babies.  I remember details of the births and first days of my children with great clarity despite being a person not particularly gifted with strong memory skills.  One thing I see in my mind’s eye as one might see a distinct path marked by deep tire grooves on a much traveled mud road is the squishy little baby’s searching for food.  So carnal.  So basic.  So fascinating to hold a hungry newborn.

Merriam-Webster.com offers two entries for newborn.
 1. recently born
2.  born anew

In closer proximity, I recently watched a mother and her new child in the waiting room of a doctor’s office.  The baby was teeny-small, peachy-headed and exhibiting signs of hunger.  Not fussing or crying but seeking.  It made me remember vividly the single minded focus a newborn has in the quest for food.  Incessant and searching, moving its head like a bitty bird pecking through leaves in search of a snack.  And who smells like lunch?  Mommy.  Scented in some pre-dawn plan for existence the mother can be detected by her baby.  The newborn will peck and poke its little face on any shoulder it happens to be upon in search of milk but put the kid in mommy’s arms and the search becomes frantic, often accompanied by little gasping breaths that escalate quickly into crying if the baby is not satisfied soon enough.  I consider motherhood one of the most sacred experiences of my life, but I recall with some residue of trepidation the relentlessness of a hungry newborn and the work of keeping it fed.  Perhaps its frantic longing was accompanied by my own as I was a newborn of sorts as well.  A born anew mother also questing for my food.     

           Newborn

          Remember the pecking:  baby’s feeble fuzzy head bobbing, neonate
          neck weak wobbling to support a cumbersome cranium filled full
          of prerequisite human brain, possessing no skills for survival alone
          helpless.  Spinal strain lifts the fresh face, puckered pink wrinkly lips.
          Eyes without lashes offer watery spherical glasses, convey no clarity
          imprecise sight splashes in the skull still soft in the middle, fontanel
          for tremendous year one growth projected, but today’s tiny nose
          tic-tocking left and right in the place above a beating heart seeking
          mother.  Knowing where life resides.  Sustenance can be offered.
          Being so wee, emergent, soft soap smelling body cradled in arms
          sharp with small increasing strength, hoping nourishment will flow.