Babies and Magical Thinking

                         

Suzanne McLain Rosenwasser                           March 1, 2013

The instant my first grandchild was born last December, the myopic
focus I had on writing was blinded.

All I could see was her.

Babies produce magical thinking in some of us. They are put in our
arms like tiny miracles - the proof we are given that life exists due to
powers higher and greater than our own imaginings. Suddenly we
know that life is good, hope rules, and peace will reign.

I see wonder every day in this child - in her eyes, her smile, her
movements - and in her mother, my child, as she reflects each of these.

They coo in harmony.

Their song prompts a memory of a moment from the wee, morning
hours after my second child was born more than 30 years ago.  A
nurse found me crying in the hospital room, failing to coerce the newborn
to breastfeed. The woman sat on the side of the bed, and between soft shhhhhhs
while stroking the infant's head, she told me about her own nine babies -
which she'd delivered at her home in Jamaica.

In her softly lyrical voice, this kind woman soothed me and soothed the baby
who, after much soft singing and sweet patience, latched.

When I thanked the nurse she said something close to this: "I'm just being
a mom. All babies belong to you when you become a mom. Even the ones
who just had babies themselves. You can't stop being a mom

when someone seems to need one."

These are my thoughts when my daughter hands my three-month-old
grandchild over to me. The baby knows me now, seems to love the
sound of my voice as much as I love the one-dimple-smile my
hellos evoke.

They are the same smiles I exchanged with my mother and you with
yours, some universal transfer full of a life-giving force. They make
me realize in a grand way, I'm still a mom.

The baby sings and kicks her legs in my arms, happy to be received.

"She loves me," I think, and my unexpecting heart knocks at a
familiar door.

I never had living grandparents. Well, that's not entirely true. I had
a grandmother in Texas who didn't seem to care for us. I only met
her once before she died.

Now I have the opportunity to be the presence in this child's life that
was always a hollow absence in my own.

As if that isn't wonderful enough, the baby is a gift from my beloved
daughter, the child who first  granted me membership in the fellowship
of moms.

As I breathe in the sweet smell of eternity from her child's neck,
my daughter smiles at me. She thanks me for "mom-ing" with her
these last three months and the circle of life whirls around us.

    

                       "A child breathed softly in the folds of my soul,

                                            The warmth became you,

                                            The child became me

                              And the love that was once was for all."

~anonymous

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MANHASSET STORIES (volumes I and II): available at all online booksellers

and The Little Shop in Manhasset, NY on Hillside Avenue.

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For Rhode Island Writers' Retreat Information, May 17-19 2013:
http://www.suzannerosenwasser.com/Suzanne_McLain_Rosenwasser/Writers_Retreat_Info.html