A quiet corner in the heart of my baby
Baby’s World (Rabindranath Tagore)
I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby’s very own world.
I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops
down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows.
Those who make believe to be dumb, and look as if they never
could move, come creeping to his window with their stories and with
trays crowded with bright toys.
I wish I could travel by the road that crosses baby’s mind,
and out beyond all bounds;
Where messengers run errands for no cause between the kingdoms
of kings of no history;
Where Reason makes kites of her laws and flies them, the Truth
sets Fact free from its fetters.
The great Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore, winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, understood the magical world of babies. How else could he know that their little faces are closer to the hand of God than we could imagine and that He caresses them at the same time that we do when they are in our arms?
Tagore’s poem about each baby’s inner world came to mind today as I sat with my shiny new grandson, who was born on February 9. After he was released from the hospital today, we sat together while his parents ran errands. I fed him a bottle and stared at him as he napped.
The expressions on his little face were wondrous: the brows arched and his tiny lips puckered, eyelids flickered as if he were dreaming and his tapered fingers–so unlike a typical baby’s clenched fists–were like a flock of birds rising and falling. When he’s awake, my grandson’s eyes open wide as if he were considering the state of the world. He trusts that we who nestle him in our arms will feed him and change him when he cries. He doesn’t need much yet.
Some people like to say that babies don’t smile. The happy expressions on their faces are caused by gas, or so the cliche goes. I told my daughter’s nurse that I have never thought gas made anyone smile, infant or not. The nurse agreed with me. As Tagore imagined, babies must have an inner life that is so free of sin and unsullied by the world’s machinations that they must smile at how beautiful life still is for them.
My grandson’s name is Christian, which is a noun and an adjective of our hope in God as well as a name that my daughter liked. Baby Christian has an older brother, “JJ,” who is all of 13 months old and parents who are on the cusp of turning 21. As I like to say, I have items in my sock drawer that are older than each parent and a kid put together. JJ is making sounds that resemble words and he’s walking like a little man, but he’s learning the first inklings of right and wrong. When he hears a firm “no” as he reaches for a forbidden item, he stops and thinks over his actions the next time he goes near it. His parents are teaching him the concept of “nice and easy” when it comes to being near his baby brother. JJ’s mind is open to being molded in any direction his parents choose.
As I sat alone with Christian this afternoon, I scanned his face for familiar features. He reminds me of some of my four children, especially his mother, who was our beautiful second child. They both have delicate chins and smaller features crowned with dark hair. I may be just another proud grandmother, but I’ve pronounced Christian perfectly made, just as JJ was.
The stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops down to his face to amuse him in Tagore’s poem are in Christian’s sleeping face as he smiles and waves his long fingers in the air. He’s a new creation in God’s image just arrived in our world, whose ills so many despair of. But how can this world be sullied when God sees fit to create babies like Christian who are so full of innocence and mysterious dreams of talking stars?
