My friend Heather had a baby last Friday. Gavin is eight pounds, and so far, a pretty calm baby. He only cries when he’s hungry. Family members have already started the “whose chin (eyes, hair, etc, etc) does he have” routine. To me, babies look like grizzled old souls who have been called from eternity back to duty on Earth. They don’t really look like other family members until much later.
But if Gavin is calm, there is one area that he has already showed his spunk. He doesn’t particularly like being swaddled. It’s not that he cries or thrashes about angrily. He simply starts working his little arms until suddenly out pops a hand and then another one. Given enough uninterrupted time, he can work that blanket right off his body. It’s funny to watch.
Now Gavin doesn’t particularly care that swaddling is supposed to be a source of comfort for babies. He knows what he likes, and he likes getting free. Perhaps it’s a good lesson for all of us. Sometimes, no matter how many people tell us that we should be happy and grateful to be in the place we are, it is simply not the right place for us. And sometimes, a prison is still a prison, even if the walls are warm and fuzzy and baby blue.
And we need to break out!