Last Saturday evening I showed up late for a movie evening. That was ok, since my primary purpose in appearing was to make the acquaintance of a young lady who is new to the group. She is also new to her parents and the world in general, being under a month old. She has all the sweetness and charm most babies have, and a distinct personality of her own. She’s going to be a demon when she becomes self-propelled, as she already protests any confinement (close cuddle, car seat, whatever) at high volume. But she is also a social child, watching and interacting considerably more than most newborns do. I propped her on my raised knees and was so obviously enraptured that my hostess asked me later if I’d seen anything of the movie. I had, but it was a legitimate question.
I really don’t know why I’m so enchanted by babies and children. It is clearly hardwired. I remember asking questions and responding with fascination and a desire to care for when I wasn’t much out of babyhood myself, (about 2) and family stories indicate that the behavior existed well before my memory of it. It may even predate my ability to talk, but it’s hard to tell. Family lore also agrees that I was talking at 9 months and using full sentences by 16 months, so who knows? I do remember insisting that my mother show me how to change a diaper, hold a baby properly, and other details when I was no more than three. This enchantment has been with me as long as I have worn this body. I am a mother to my core. Now when I react to a baby people look at my son and say “once a mother always a mother”, but what explained it in the 39 years before Joseph arrived? Certainly not my hormones. They’ve been scrambled from the beginning and have already shut down ten years before they’re supposed to.
But the fact of enchantment remains, as clear as the fact that I coo at every baby I see and focus so intently on one in my arms that it’s reasonable to ask me if I saw anything of the movie. Thank you, Li.