Welcome Baby

Well, I’m a Great Aunt now. On Wednesday Elisa gave birth to Oliver Yacov, 7 lbs. 13 oz. Haven’t even met this baby and I already love him; I don’t care if he has three heads.

And why is that?
1) I love his mother.
2) It’s my job.
3) What’s not to love?

This is how our culture reacts to babies.

While in Starbucks the other day I was watching a small boy, about 2 or 3. With total abandon, he was flapping around the store, grooving on everything—the food in the cases, the basket of water bottles, a napkin on the floor. I remember being his age, before fear and shame took over.

Likewise I could visualize him in 20 or 30 years, walking around like everyone else, deadened, shut down. How does that happen?

After all, when we were born, the whole world was thrilled, just like I am with Oliver Yacov.

An Interesting Exercise

To get a picture of what everyone said the day you were born, fill in the blanks:

“Did you hear? (Your mom’s name)______ had** a little ______ (boy/girl).”
“Oh how wonderful! What did they name (him/her)?”
“______________(your name goes here)”
“Wonderful!”

**or adopted

Now say it aloud.

Just think: They were all thrilled at our arrival. Then later we somehow fell out of grace.

I would like to suggest that it was diseased, insecure people who took away the sense of our delightfulness.

Well, it’s time to reclaim our birthright. Since nobody else will do it, we must be the Little Red Hen and start erasing all those lies about our inadequacy.

After all, what’s not to love?

Personally, I imagine a sweet maternal voice just behind my right shoulder, making much over me: “Oh Pody! I love this wonderful blog entry you’re writing! Look at you! Henry come watch Lyttle Poe write her blog!”

(Of course, to do this, one must overcome feelings of absolute stupidity or narcissism.)

But try it for yourself; let me know what you think.