Gratitude and the Village: A Babywearing Love Story
by Karyn Thurston
When you were new, you slept only on my chest - head on my heart, curled to mimic the now hollow space that you'd occupied for months. I would have stayed awake all night, every night, just to keep you there, if only I were something more than human, something stronger than the need for rest and food and the usual rhythms of life. But you are the child of a human mama, so you learned to sleep on your dad while I rested, then next to us, then on your own.
We emerged from our newborn cocoon, and suddenly there were other arms to hold you, stronger, better rested arms that arrived willing and open and full of love for you, and for your sleepy eyed parents, who handed you carefully into the waiting arms and showered, and napped, and embraced each other.
Gratitude is the words your grandfather whispers to you as you ride on his back, as he carries you into forests full of stories. Gratitude is your sleeping head on your uncle's shoulder, your aunt dancing you to sleep after texting me a proud picture of you securely snuggled in your carrier, her first time, her proud success. Gratitude is your grandmother showing you through stores as you ride on her hip, and your sleepy happy toddler self when each of them returns you to me.
Happy Thanksgiving, LÍLLÉ friends! Wishing you and your village the warmest and best.
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