Letter to my Friday Baby

Baby -

My last night in Haiti, I stood on the balcony and held you in my arms, so tightly, never wanting to let go. I looked into your eyes, mesmerized, for in those vast, deep, dark orbs, the clouds were perfectly reflected. Perfectly. The way the scintillating sun beams shot from behind their white poofiness, the way the light traced the complex shapes, the way their varying shades of colors were juxtaposed so sharply against the clear and open blueness of the sky – everything was immaculately mirrored in those huge and beautiful eyes of yours. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. 

It was your eyes that I noticed from the first time we met, and how strikingly large they appeared on your tiny face. For a few moments, my own eyes began to drown and the image of clouds in your eyes was blurred. Saying goodbye to you the next day would be one of the hardest things I have ever done, and I knew it then as I looked at those eyes of yours, at your whole face, as I held your tiny warm body, so sweet and small and innocent and peaceful. GLA is a wonderful place, and they are so very good at getting children families, but you don't have a family yet, baby. All my other children are perfectly matched and waiting to go home, but you still don't have a family. And that's one of the reasons that made it so hard for me to say goodbye. 

I loved, relished, cherished every moment in your presence. Watching you grow and thrive and change so quickly and in such leaps and bounds blew me away. I may have seen it happen time and time again to many a baby, but that has done naught to mitigate how utterly amazing it is.

You were so tiny when I first met you. So tiny. You had just turned three months, everything about you was small and miniature. You hadn't even reached ten pounds. You didn't interact with me much; you were content to just sit in my lap and stare into space. You didn't do much, really, not even cry for the most part! The only thing you really did was suck your thumb. Suck and suck and suck your thumb.

But all that soon changed. Except the thumb sucking part. I can't imagine you will ever stop sucking that thumb of yours. But after about a week or two, you started to smile. Not for prolonged periods of time, just fast, shy little grins that captured my heart in an instant.

We enjoyed lots of tummy time together. Whenever I could bear to put you down on the mats out of my arms. Which was not exactly a common occurrence. Each day, you lifted up that head of yours for just a little bit longer, pushing yourself to be stronger and stronger. You got quite a bad rash on your face at one point, but after about a week of lots of baby lotion and tender loving care, your skin healed beautifully! Your face became increasingly expressive as you grew, and there were so many days when you would make me laugh and laugh and laugh at the way you could manipulate your eyes and your mouth and your sweet little face.

Your thumb sucking got to be quite an issue since the skin on and around the thumb became red and raw and the skin began to peel. To fix this problem, the nannies taped a sock over your hand. Never have I ever heard you cry so much! You struggled and fought to suck your thumb through the sock. You wailed and wailed and wailed at this calamitous loss, but never when you were with me. You were always the sweetest and the best when I held you.

Soon enough, you figured out that it was possible to suck your left thumb as well as your right thumb, and the skin on the sore thumb healed, and the sock came off. Each day, you put a little bit of chub on those cheeks of yours. Each day you had me more and more entranced with your precious little self. 

You started to observe things and people, getting increasingly alert by the minute. You could track toys, jerkily moving your head, as I swung them back and forth in front of you. I watched you and wondered what sorts of thoughts were running through that little head. I would sit and daydream. I'd dream that you would suddenly get a life-threatening but curable medical condition that could be best treated at the University of Michigan's Children's Hospital. Miraculously, a medical visa would fall into place and I would carry you safely home with me. I would be the one with you at the doctor's, the one to bathe you and feed you and clothe you, the one to bring you to church and show you off to all my friends, the one to dress you up in the handsomest clothes and take fifty bajillion million pictures, we would go on so many adventures together. I'd sit there and dream about taking you to the park and about making you laugh every day and about buying you toys and soft blankets and warm pajamas and about celebrating your first Christmas with you, showing you with excitement the trees and the ornaments and the lights and the pictures of a baby, not unlike yourself, lying in a manger because there was no room for him in the inn...

One thing's for sure, you have a sense of humor. Not really my type of humor, it was always more of a very masculine sense of humor - you think poop's hilarious. And you find it even funnier when the poop shoots straight out of your diaper and onto my pants. This happened not once, not twice, but thrice. Yeah, not really my kind of humor.

You were always so happy and pleased with yourself after spewing poop on my pants and up my shirt. I tried to be angry with you and reprimand you, but one look at your smiling face and my heart melts into a puddle.

We practiced sitting up a lot. By the time I left, you could sit by yourself pretty decently for quite a significant portion of time (at least sixty seconds!) before getting a little tipsy. It was the best when you started to recognize me. I'd put you in the bumbo, and you'd stare into space and suck your thumb until I'd catch your attention.

You'd bashfully fight the grin from breaking forth, and you'd try your best to keep that thumb stuffed in your mouth.

But I always won the game, the thumb always came out, and you always smiled. And so did I, little boy. So did I. Any small amounts of joy that I brought into your life, you gave to me tenfold.

Look at you, sitting up all by yourself, chubby to the point of being fat, smiling because of me, and wearing the darlingest little hat. I couldn't be prouder. Best of all, you started to laugh. A deeply satisfying and deathly cute burble that welled up inside of you each time we made eye contact. That sound couldn't have made me more joyful.

I love you, baby. I think of you perpetually, wondering if you're okay, if someone's there to love you and hold you and kiss you and sing you songs and rock you to sleep and tell you how handsome and wonderful you are. My arms are so horribly empty without your little body nestled so perfectly inside of them. I know you will continue to receive good care and much love at GLA, but I long for the day when you can go home. Because somewhere in this world, there is a very very special family that somehow has a hole in it. Something missing. And that something is you. God is preparing their hearts to love you even more than I do. He has a family for you, sweet boy. A family for you and a plan for your life. I'm very jealous of them, but I know that they will be perfect for you and you for them. So many prayers have I prayed for you, and God has heard every single one of them. I may not be there to watch over you anymore, but He is, baby, He is. Your life is important, and even without knowing it, you have already impacted the lives of many. And by the grace of God, you will continue to do so for the rest of your days. And one day, I hope to welcome children like you into my home and call them my own, and when I do, I will remember you.

I lift my eyes up to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip,

he who watches over you will not slumber; 

indeed he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. 

The Lord watches over you,

the Lord is your shade at your right hand; 

the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. 

The Lord will keep you from all harm,

he will watch over your life; 

the Lord will watch over your coming and going 

both now and 

forevermore.

Psalm 121