I Held a Baby

Yup, it's true. I didn't plan on it. It wasn't my sister's baby, my best friend's baby, or some friend of a friend's, but a baby boy whose mom brought him to work. Here's what happened.

I go to an all-day work meeting where my colleagues from across the state come together to complete a task--and a woman brought her 7-week baby. I'm drawn to babies, as I've said before, but I do lose it when I hear a baby cry, and I do tend to miss Caitlin more when I'm around babies. Well, there was some fussing and cooing and surprisingly, I'm doing fine, still able to work with my group at my table. No tears. Then one of the facilitators holds the baby and parades him around to each table with all the typical "oohs and aahs." I'm fine though. I'm not able to look up, because when the baby stops by our table he is is crying. I'm about to start crying when I get irritated. I have this conversation with myself.

"What is the deal? What are you afraid of?"
"I don't want to be traumatized by a baby."
"Enough is enough."
"So what do I need to do to resolve this anxiety and tension?"
"I need to go hold the baby."
"Really? Really."
"I am a crazy woman, but I'm done with how bad this hurts and I'm sick of the energy it takes to avoid this uncomfortable situation, so I need to go hold the baby and make this real rather than something I'm worried about."
"Really."

I go over to the mom and ask, "Is it OK if I hold your baby?" "Sure," and she smiles at me. I walk over to the woman holding the baby and say, "Mom says I can hold her baby. May I?" And she hands me the baby.

It was quite lovely. And I start talking and cooing to the baby. The parade woman says something, but I'm not really listening to her. I say, "I haven't held a baby since my daughter." The woman replies to my thinking out loud, "Oh, how old is she now?"
Woops. I thought she knew I was a bereaved mother. I looked up at her stunned and said, "Oh, no. She's gone. My baby died at 11 weeks."
She may have said, "I'm sorry," but I don't remember. I went back to swaying and talking to the baby. I waited for the intense grief, some anger, aching, longing, sadness . . . none of those emotions came. Joy? No, not that either. It was just nice. My conversation with myself continues as I sway and stare at someone else's baby boy.

"Really?"
"Where are your emotions? Are you cold-hearted?"
"No, I'm fine. I'm OK. No sorrow here."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I feel kinda bad about that. Shouldn't I be traumatized?"
"Nope, I just feel almost nothing."
"Really."

I handed the baby back to the parade lady who hands him back to the mother and I go back to my table. I sit down and one of my colleagues who knows my story and remarks, "Wow, that was a milestone for you." "Yes," I replied, and at last the tears flowed, grateful that she acknowledged my loss and sat with me as I missed Caitlin.

I wasn't crying because I held a baby, but crying because I wasn't holding Caitlin.