Zen and the art of holding a baby...

There is Zen to be found in the act of holding a baby. My children are eight and eleven, and I am just learning this lesson now.

Last week I received a call from a woman at church asking if I could make a meal for a young couple in our congregation who had just had a baby. Apparently the baby had been born prematurely, was very colicky and was crying almost non-stop when awake (uh-oh). Which was pretty much all the time since the baby also wasn’t sleeping (yikes). The woman explained that she was trying the “young moms” on her list (apparently none of the young moms picked up the phone because she got me). She thought that in addition to the meal, I might be able to provide a little wisdom, companionship and solidarity for the new mother.

The next day, armed with a positive attitude and homemade macaroni and cheese, I drove to the young couple’s house and pulled into the driveway. Before I could even shut off the engine, the front door swung open. And that’s when I saw more than just a tired young woman in sweatpants and a ponytail holding a crying baby. I saw my past.

For the next hour I got to know the young mother (I’ll call her Dee) and her new son. After five weeks in the hospital, the baby came home and Dee and her husband became fully immersed in the all-consuming haze of new parenthood. Many of the challenges Dee faced were the same I had faced eleven years ago: A baby with feeding issues; a husband who worked long hours; no immediate family in the area; a neighborhood made up of older couples with grown children. As we discussed the similarities of our situations, I was transported back in time. Here was another mother who fiercely loved her newborn son, yet felt unprepared and overwhelmed by the sudden changes in her life. I sat and listened and empathized with Dee, and then did the one thing I could do to help: I held the baby.

Ironically, he was perfectly behaved during my visit. As he finished his bottle and burped for me, Dee sat and ate her lunch with two hands (two hands!) As the baby drifted off to sleep in my arms, she tentatively asked if she could wash some bottles and do a few other chores around the house. Shooing her off, I sat and contemplated the snoozing bundle in my arms. As I listened to his soft breathing and watched his lips involuntarily twitch into a smile, I did something I’ve rarely done in the past: focus on just holding a baby and nothing else.

When my older son was born, rather than enjoying the peace of those moments I would worry about the challenges I might face when he woke up. Would he be happy? Hungry? Would he fuss and cry? Would I be able to comfort him? Would I lose my mind? And what about all the things that needed to get done around the house: The laundry, the bottles, and the clutter. When my second son was born, though I tried to savor those moments, I couldn’t help but wonder what the three-year-old was up to in the next room.

Eleven years later, here was my chance to clear my mind and focus all my thoughts and attention on the sleeping child in my arms. To enjoy the warmth and softness of his Carters-clad body; to listen to his rhythmic breathing; to enjoy the sweet scent of his head. I wasn’t multi-tasking or reading or watching television at the same time, I was just immersed in the moment. By the time Dee returned, my pulse rate had slowed and my mind was clear. I felt as refreshed as if I had taken a yoga class (without all the stretching and sweating). Dee thanked me, but honestly, I should have been thanking her.

Driving home, I felt nostalgia for the long-gone infancy of my own children: Would I have enjoyed those quiet moments more if I knew then what I know now? Or was I only capable of relaxing with a baby that wasn’t my own? As I pulled into my own driveway, I decided that the past is the past and that I really do enjoy my children more as they get older.

But if I need another Zen baby moment, I know who to call.