As a new proud Dad at the ripe age of 49, I may act as if there has only ever been one baby born. But in humble reflection every baby born is, and always has been, the single greatest celebration of the awe and wonder of creation, both spiritually and biologically
Babies represent hope and promise. Their essential goodness and innocence and simple joy at “being baby” glows and inspires poems such as, “I Love Your Babyness” shared below. So what happens? After all, we’re all just baby’s who have moved forward a few years down the path. I invite you to enjoy either versions of the poem below (spoken or read) and reflect on the babies that have touched your life. -Valuing Others
Here’s a loving (literally) challenge. -Valuing Self
Write a poem, letter, etc. that’s entitled:
“I love your (Your Name)ness”
and appreciate your Babyness, regardless of age.
Click Here To Listen to Peter and his Daughter Read the Poem
I Love Your Babyness
(Hannah 4.5 months old)
I love the way you flail your arms around
pivoting wildly from the shoulder socket
exploring the voids of space
hoping to catch an angel by her wing’s
or a butterfly
as she flutters on by.
I love your little hands,
with their dimpled knuckles.
Stubby little grabbers of all things curious.
I love the way you discover your fist,
as if every time is the first time,
and chomp down with your gum-ption
until a soother appears as a gift from the Gods above
(and I love being a deity at the centre of your universe).
Such determination and gusto.
May you always be so passionate in your pursuits.
I love the way you coo when happy,
murple when laughing,
and let’er rip when you need me.
I love how you flip from content to play to pain
and back again in an instant,
or an hour later as per your whimsy.
I love the way you muckle onto your bottle
with reckless abandon
creating a vivacious vacuum
and resisting to come up for air
like a pearl diver reluctant to leave
her treasures below unadored.
I love the way your nappy holds fast against
your concerted effort to dislodge it from duty.
I love the way you flush intense red,
your neck turtles in, and give it your all
as if conducting a big movement from Beethoven’s 5th
Hannah’s symphony in P major.
I love when we hold each other’s gaze
and time stands still as the world turns without us
and I look deeply into your beautiful brown eyes
until our two souls are content.
I love your little pout
and so sorry about laughing.
I really do take your disgruntlements seriously,
but your pout just turns me inside out
and joy creeps out through my grin.
I love the way you rub your eyes
with a loose fist when tired,
just like in the cartoons.
I love the way you sleep like an Egyptian
in eternal slumber with your beautiful cheek turned to one side
parenthesized by your arms overstretched
like Queen Nefertiti.
Such confluence of the Goddess in one little face.
I am your humble servant, your highness.
I love the way you burp before I count to seven after I sit you up from a good feeding.
I love the way you bop to the tunes, indiscriminately catching the beat.
I love the way you have way more fun than a rubber ducky at bath time.
I love the way you sigh as if you just put in a satisfied day of being you.
I love how your long lashes grace your cheek in slow motion
like a butterfly’s kiss.
I love the way my lips feel when I kiss your tiny ear
then I love the way your head smells like baby.
1 part innocence, 1 part cuteness and 1 part love.
I’d love to write down your stories
but at this point your baby words are a bit hard to spell.
I love your full body yawns and your little kerchoos,
precious miniature memories of my late Grandpy’s grander versions.
In fact, I love every breathe you take and everything you do.
I love your babyness,
because I love you.