Little C. Free: One Month Old

What a long road this month has been! Dear Little Calliope, happy first month birthday! What do you think of your life so far? Is it everything you hoped it would be all that time you were stewing in my tum? You amazed us with your triumphal entrance that night five weeks ago. With only your head born, we saw you making kissy face. Let it be said, Calliope, that you had us at kissy face. When they examined you, the student midwife kept talking right to you, "Now Calliope, I know this may feel strange, but I'm checking your parietals." She gazed into your eyes and said, "I think you have breast buds." We inspected you, searching for clues, wrinkled skin, overgrown nails-- did we really miscalculate the date? But no, you were pink-perfect and your fingernail-tips looked like they were tucked in to your nail beds, sealed for shipping.

Those first weeks, did you think you descended on a wild household? All the running, the brandishing the foot-stomping! Oh, but you and me, we got our little honeymoon. Rocking with you, watching the faint, toothelss smiles appear on your face then pass by like clouds on a bright day. When people say that infants only smile from gas, I think it's baloney. You really do smile, it is just brought on by your own newborn soulful thoughts. You at the breast for hours, vegging out on my voice tones or the stripes on my jammies. Your eyes fixed on something just above my head, what do you see? Is it angels, as my Mom believes?

Your milky neck smells and your biscuit-y hand smells are my oxygen mask. You may have been my littlest but you have been so steady. Already, you have been on the town. It must be said that I may of jumped the gun on this but how is a mom-of-four supposed to stay home for a whole month? You have been on the red carpet at the Philly Student Film Festival. You have been out past eleven at the Standard Tap. You have been to a political demonstration at Chestnut Hill Hospital. During these times, I will pull you from your sling or someone who has held you will pass you back to me and I worry that you got blanket impressions on your cheek or I fret that I didn't ask someone to sanitize their hands before holding you. But then I get you back in my arms and I see your Sara Gilbert-esque adorable turned-down mouth and your teeny star hands, and you look back at me as if saying, "I'm checking it all out, Mama."

Your entrance into our family rounds us out. You give us the symmetry I crave. Your brothers declare it a national holiday when you are awake. And your big sister has tried to nurse you on more than one occasion. What can I say, to my precious newborn baby girl? We welcome you with our openest of arms and we will stay busy at the work of making this world fit for you.