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I carried around my little baby friend the other day, she’s three months old, and we had a lovely time. She just fits neatly into the crook of my arm and she doesn’t weigh enough to make it matter, but she is quite present in her world as we swing around together. We sat on the stonewall by the pool and greeted everyone playing in the water. We looked at all the folks saying hello and touching her perfect skin. She doesn’t even get dirty yet since she cannot walk on the earth. Her little feet are still clean. But she smiles and looks and allows us to show her.
I don’t get this part of life though. It is magical and sweet as far as I can see. But for some reason it is the part of life few of us remember. I don’t know anyone who recalls being carried around, wondering at the world they were born into.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had the memory of what look to be rather sweet days of being adored and carried and cared for?
My Own Personal Sky 