When I hold her in my arms it’s like magic. She coos quietly in my ear as I put her to my shoulder. Her head is just the right size to fit in my hand. Her body so small it barely seems to weigh anything at all. Immediately, I’m thankful for her. I can’t help but think about how lucky I am every day. Today especially because of the way the sunlight shines soft and golden as it starts to sink in the sky and the way the wind brushes my arms. It is the perfect day for a picnic in the park with the family.
I lay her in my lap so I can get a good look at her face. She has a dimple in her chin like my husband. When I give her my finger she squeezes it tight. Her own fingers are long and thin. I wonder if she will play the piano like my father. The tuft of dark hair on top of her head is as soft as kitten’s fur. I love babies at this age. New to the world, their eyes wander over everything taking it in. They are so soft and vulnerable and difficult to get a hold of. She makes this day especially good for me, a rare treat. I’ll sit here on the bench holding her as long as I can before her mother gets too close to us. She should’ve have been more attentive. Turn your back for a moment and anyone can whisk your baby away.
I can see her now, rushing frantically around the park. She’s yelling and people are gathering around her. She doesn’t have to worry. I only wanted to hold her baby for a little while. I’ll return her soon to the place where I found her. That will be easy because everyone will be so busy looking that they won’t notice me. My calmness always throws them off. I’ll place the baby on the blanket where her siblings once sat eating sandwiches. It’s still laying out there. I can see it, a red patch in the grass. Then I’ll quietly walk away, disappearing into the crowd of people looking for her, but first I’ll hold her for just a few minutes more.