Babies in Distress
It’s been a strange week for me and babies.
On Monday I “rescued” a fledgling mockingbird from my infamous hunting cat, Levi. (Mind you, the parents have been beating up on him for two weeks now, so I’m sure he felt completely justified.) I quickly realized that the baby was seriously injured. I slid on my gardening gloves, scooped the fragile little body into my hands, and held it tenderly for its last ten or fifteen minutes of life.
On Tuesday I went to my favorite “meat and three” for lunch. My baby-dar tuned in to a tiny infant in blue that was being passed between a few of the restaurant employees. As I was getting ready to leave, I walked over to see the little guy. He was so little! I learned that he is three months old and is in foster care. He was born two months early to a woman who had done crystal meth throughout her pregnancy. The child doesn’t have a real name. His foster family calls him Baby J. He has already been rejected by several potential families because of the unknown long-term effects from the meth on his development.
And this afternoon I spent a couple of hours in a mechanic’s waiting room, waiting for four new tires and an alignment on my van. I kept hearing a kitten’s cry. I looked around, saw nothing, and finally asked a woman who worked behind the desk. Out from behind her desk she produced two little kittens – two weeks old – whose mama cannot care for them because she is sick. They are being bottle-fed and cared for, but two of their siblings have already died. Another kitten lover and I offered to feed them for the woman, an offer which she readily accepted. She was swamped with work. So instead of doing the reading and paperwork that I brought along to keep me feeling productive, I spent my time holding and feeding one of the tiny babies. Wasn’t it a cutie?!
Some people think that babies (of any sort) have it made – and indeed, some of them do. For some reason, those who don’t seem to keep crossing my path this week. Anytime related but unexpected themes pass into my consciousness this many times (especially in threes), I start asking God what I’m supposed to be hearing. With three children, four cats, and a dog – and only one me – I can’t believe that it’s an invitation to grow my family any bigger. (Right, God???!!!)
So, any ideas?