The Baby I am referring to could be a baby, or anything that we hold precious..anything to which we give our 100%. It's a metaphor for our hobby/passion, our career, relationship, or anything as simple as a painting.... anything that we nurture with our whole heart. Read on, discover whether you have a baby you can call your own...
This is my baby. It's just an infant! I can see its amorphous shape...the eyes aren't opening wide, and toes are the tiniest! I can see it breathe...softly, steadily....once it sneezes and then again goes back to its state of stupor...
I wrap it in a warm blanket. I make sure I don't leave any gaps. I let the face be open. I can't pull the blanket over the face lest the baby can't breathe. I don't wish to wean myself from seeing the slight expressions on baby's face! I don't want to miss the opportunity of seeing baby open its tiny eyes and look at me with some recognition.
I feed the baby with milk. That's all it needs right now. It does not need any fancy nutrients, it doesn't need doctors prescription. It needs milk, more than that an assurance that it will get milk whenever it needs it.
I tend my baby as if its the most important and attend to it as if its the most urgent. People beckon me back to their world of responsibilities, realities and regularities. I give them just enough attention to shut them up. I am the happiest when I retire with my baby in my arms. There are certain independent and self reliant persons jeering at me, I am aware. To see me go soft, and mellow is something they can't accept. They refuse to believe in my mothering instincts! They try to show me a life full of self identity and freedom from rules. I think it's the freedom from Giving they are showing. It is the easy way instead of the right way that they are showing. And I simply smile at them.
Little do they know that there is an indomitable faith and goodness thriving inside me which propels me to give all I have to my baby. To make them understand the joy in limiting my world to my baby is beyond my capacity.
The baby is sleeping. I don't want to rouse it. I cant help touching it either. I touch the curled fingers ever so delicately and instinctively it wraps its fingers around mine. The grip is surprisingly strong! The eyes are closed, it doesnt need to open its eyes to see who's finger it is grabbing. The half curled lips say it all. I look at it with so much amazement. l look at my creation, I look at my flesh and blood. And I cant stop smiling! I exhale contentment, I inhale the smell of creation.
I feel confined. I feel free.