Last night I met my nephew Jonathan; I stared in awe at his perfect, tiny little face, his lips and his long, itsy bitsy fingers. He’s so cuddly and soft. He coos and grunts and groans, all six and a half pounds of him. When Arnie and I arrived home from the airport, Kara was feeding Jonathan and I just saw his tiny legs in little blue socks, his diaper and pink stomach. Then, Kara passed him to me for burping time. I had no success so Arnie showed me his technique and when I took Jonathan back, he promptly and predictably spit up his whole meal - right onto the front of my shirt. Arnie grabbed his camera and the resulting photo is one of my favorites – I’ve never looked so genuinely happy in a photo, and I have baby spit-up covering the front of my shirt.
Jonathan is so privileged to have two dedicated parents who want to make him happy and who constantly care for him. At bedtime, Arnie swaddled him in, tried to turn his head to the left, to help avoid his flat spot and as we quietly left the room, Arnie adjusted the volume on the CD player so Jonathan could fall asleep to the soothing music.
I just can’t get over how beautiful Jonathan is and how amazingly fortunate he is to have been born to Kara and Arnie, and into our family that just showers him with love and attention – I know in about 13 years I’ll have to remind him of this. I’m sure my experience in Mexico is deeply affecting my judgment here. Just yesterday I saw one boy, about three or four years old, all alone and playing with the dirt, filling a bottle cap, reminding me of playing at a beach. At night I walked by a crying baby sitting in her car seat that was placed on the sidewalk, her mother nearby, gathering the goods that she had displayed at the market. A couple days ago I saw a beautiful baby girl, holding a rattle and sitting in a cardboard box, lined with a blanket while her father, or grandfather was cooking at his sidewalk stand. A couple of weeks ago, I saw a baby girl, old enough to sit on her own, doing so on a grass lined median strip while her mother was weaving between the stopped traffic, selling gum and candy.
It is hard coming home and readjusting to this life, even if it is just for the weekend. There is so much love and luxury here, I just want to scoop up those children I see in Mexico and give them this warmth. How is it possible that we are all “children of God” and so many are in the street, on their own?
