Gabriel At One Week

A very small human was handed to me today, my great-nephew.  Gabriel The New slept peacefully in my arms, radiating heat, smiling and grimacing while the traces of dreams flitted across his face and his arms flopped back and forth.  He is one week old now and, by all accounts, the most beautiful boy we have seen in a long time, possibly all time.

His mother is tired and a bit unsteady, weighed down by uncertainty and inexperience.  It's her first baby and, having done so many things right in life, wants everything to go wonderfully for Gabriel.  Her anxiety is born of love and exhaustion and will gradually relent as she gets more used to nursing, napping when he sleeps, and letting the house go for now.

Women collected in the livingroom and filled it up with love, clucking and laughing, unsure of how to help Gabriel's mother be perfect and also knowing it is a false hope.  She is doing fine, which is better than perfect because it's normal.  He is the proof of that, gaining weight, wetting diapers and paying no attention to anything but her heartbeat and his hunger.  They are still very much connected and interdependent, one week past birth.  She will gradually trust that nature is setting the pace, calling the shots, making all things possible for him to thrive now.

He was sweetness itself while he slept in the crook of my elbow, a very tiny person with miniature everything.  I think I held my breath the whole time, thought he would disappear like a bubble in the midday sunlight, a tiny swaddled boy.  But, seeing my niece wilting with lack of sleep, I was the one who left, to return sometime soon for another close look.