The baby is fussing. He is tired, but his bed is currently occupied by Batman (well, it's Batman's bed, but Boo sleeps there when he's here...) and he is not interested in falling asleep on the couch. So instead, I hold him. Rubbing his head and his ears, I watch him as his eyes get heavy and close, and I begin to ponder.
Jesus, what were You like when You were a baby? When You were tired, did your mother hold you while you fell asleep or did she lay You down in Your bed, kiss Your forehead, and walk away? Could she bear to put You down and walk away? Did your lashes sweep down on Your cheeks as you slept or were they short little wisps that didn't reach Your cheeks? Did Your hair stick up in silky spikes all over, or were You bald til You were two? Was Your tiny fist curled around Mary's thumb, or was Your hand open and relaxed while You slept? Did Your mother know the unspeakable joys and sorrows that she would experience as the mother of our Savior, or did she just relish the joy and the beauty of You? At six months old, were people stopping to look and coo at You because You were a baby (and everyone loves babies) or were You already drawing people to Yourself?