Little Realizations

I finished feeding Caleb tonight and still found him to be quite fussy. He has been fighting a cold lately and I think may even be coming down with pinkeye, thanks to his older brother sharing it so generously with him. He fussed and cried as I started changing his diaper and, I'm not sure what compelled me to do this, but after taking off his clothes and leaving him in just his diaper, I held him up against me rather than continuing to change him. He seemed to calm down briefly before starting up again. The kangaroo care idea (skin-to-skin contact) came to mind and soon I was snuggled up against him with a blanket over the two of us for warmth.
Mere seconds after holding him against my skin, he had quieted down and just minutes later he was sound asleep in my arms. Tim was putting Noah and Eleanor to bed so I just stayed there with Caleb and began inspecting him.
The first thing I always notice is his hair. It is dark like mine and there is much of it but with a double-cowlick that points to Tim. I took the time to notice his little nose and ears and mouth with the bottom lip he likes to suck in. I began to think about how this little person is made up of mine and Tim's genes. We helped in creating this tiny body that was snuggled against mine! I know that this is obvious (hello, Biology class) but not very often do I really take the time to think about how amazing that thought is.
I traced my finger along the knuckles on his fingers and then on to the tiny folds in his wrist where his hand connects to his forearm. Smooth, soft and somewhat pudgy baby skin invited my finger to run its way up to his elbow and back down to his knuckles. I thought of how blessed I am and then a scary thought came to my mind.
I hadn't wanted him.
After Eleanor was born, Tim and I wanted to be done having kids. Two was good for us and we have our first baby in Heaven, so, actually, three was good for us.
Then God worked His plans which are usually so opposite of what we plan.
I remember my reaction to finding out I was pregnant again. The screaming and crying and fear that set the tone for a couple days until reality started to sink in is something I won't lie about, although I don't like that it was my reaction.
Then he was born and I remember how deeply and quickly I fell in love with this small bundle, this Caleb James. This love for him surpassed any fear I may have had about raising three children on earth.
I thought tonight about how full my arms felt there with him settled in to them and then started to think about the arms of other women.
The aching arms of the woman who desperately wants, but cannot have, a baby to find his or her home in them by way of her own body.
The lonely arms of the woman who chose the difficult route of adoption or abortion. The arms that feel as if they're missing what the womb had provided but not made the connection on.
The open arms of the woman who embraces a child not born of her body but into her love.
Then I realized that a couple thousand years ago there was a woman whose arms were also full as she cradled a tiny baby who came with a big purpose. I could hear music in our kitchen, the Christmas playlist shuffling around in albums to bring us a variety of songs. Interestingly enough, at that moment, the song "Mary, Did You Know?" started playing.
Did you know, Mary?
What was that night like? What thoughts went through her head as her tired arms wrapped themselves around Jesus - our Savior?
I can imagine that she would have first responded as any mother who has just given birth does - counting his tiny fingers and toes. Her hand gently smoothing over the top of his head as she took in how much or little hair he had. I wouldn't be surprised if her fingers traced the outline of his lips, his eyes and the bridge of his nose. The way she must have brought him close to her own nose to breath in his newborn scent.
I pondered all these things as I watched Caleb's mouth spit out his binky and work his lips into a pout before sucking in his lower lip and bringing it out again. His fingers stretched out against my skin and then curled in again to a little fist. From the kitchen I could hear "Silent Night" start to play.
I have heard people joke that the song isn't accurate - that it couldn't have been a silent night with the screams of childbirth, a baby's wail and the noises of surrounding animals in the stable.
In the time I was examining Caleb and marveling in the wonder of life, I also know that life was continuing around me. I could hear Noah upstairs in his room. I could hear Eleanor trying to fight bedtime. I could hear Tim lecturing both of them on how it was time for them to stay in their rooms and go to sleep. I could hear the music from the kitchen.
Yet as I looked at Caleb, there was also a silence. It was reminiscent of the first time parents see their child. There is activity all around them. Lights and people and sounds and doors and so much more. There seems to be a bubble around the small family, though. As the child's eyes lock into his parents', time stands still for a moment. Everything else fades away. There is a silence and awe.
A silent night, perhaps, as Mary locked eyes with Jesus.
I am far from a theologian but I am a mother. I cannot tell you all the facts and theories that surround the details of that night but I think I can relate, as a woman and mother, to how Mary must have felt that night as she cradled Jesus close to her for the first time. Her arms were full as she held the One Who adopts us into His family.
What a beautiful picture.
What a silent night.