You were born. Such a simple fact,
could lead almost anywhere including the
historical progress of a millennial.
But that’s not the point.
You were born, could lead to tales of the woes and fears
about an infant too soon into the world, yellow and small and fragile.
One who grew into a woman full of charge and purpose
pursuing life adventures without need for a steadying parental hand.
But that is another story.
You were born could lead to tales of bright blue eyes cast first
upon a birthing room without capacity to hone in and focus. Blue
crystalline eyes you have used to discover art and reading and dogs and friends.
Eyes that discern colors and puzzle out shapes and problems in unique ways. Eyes
that find their way to the finish of hundreds of books; you used to keep count,
and all the ideas held in those packages.
But those are different tales.
You were born and I could regale with stories of laughter and curiosity,
making the world open its doors willingly as you absorbed
without judgement and encouraged without jealousy. Or we could converse about
passages you shouldn’t have had to go through
losing some of your naiveté and aging earlier. Yet, it provided
an opportunity to gain strength and show care and love and nurture
all for a rather low price of admission.
But that is a different show.
You were born and we could reflect on the glint in your mother’s eyes, a light
never existing before as she looked at you bundled in some hospital swaddling. Or
our ineptness changing first-time diapers, giving first-time baths, watching
first-time sleep and singing you to first-time napping. Feeding you
with bottle and breast in first-time eating. And marveling as you took over those tasks yourself
at each new stage.
But that is a different progression.
You were born and I placed you naked and tender-skinned
against my chest, heart to heart so our rhythms might sync.
I could smell you so tiny. You carried some of your mother’s scent, but
brought a new one, all your own, into the world. Your breath drifting in and out
in easy fashion rustling the hairs of my chest and you content to absorb my warmth.
In that moment all your potentials and possibilities existed and could be contained
between me and a flimsy baby blanket keeping the cool air at bay.
You were born and I…I was reborn.