Baby Magic

That's my guy!

Pardon me for basking. We Seyfrieds are currently enjoying bathing in the golden glow of Babyland. These are the magical months post-newborn and pre-toddler, when Dimitri is not as fragile as he was, nor as mobile as he will be. He still sleeps a lot, and is a super sport about being passed around to various doting grownups. He’s starting to play with toys and eat rice cereal and smile huge, drooly smiles.    

His presence is such a blessing, and a constant reminder of innocence and joy. Of course, he’s not the only infant to ever have bestowed such a gift—in their turns, Aiden and Peter were similar small wonders, as were Sheridan, Evan, Rose, Patrick and Julie, as before them were Steve with his sibs, and me with mine. I look at old photos, and it’s clear the Baby Magic extends back many generations.  

Mom, Uncle Gerry and Uncle Jack

I think about these precious little ones so very often nowadays, and I cry for the world they are inheriting. How could we adults have so botched things? Is it fair to expect Dimitri to right this sinking ship? The most poignant aspect of my musings? I must watch my third grandson in real time, every day, living his small, oh so important life with us, totally oblivious to the seriously scary future he is facing. He marvels at the bright colors on his quilt, chortles with glee when Steve (“Pa”) makes funny faces and sounds, and examines his toes as if they were the eighth wonder of the world (which, for him, they are). The world’s worries are totally unknown to him.  

Guess it’s good that we have a while yet before his emancipation. Think about the animal kingdom—the baby birds pushed from their nests, the tiny sea turtles hatched and left to make their perilous way alone to the ocean. I understand that this brief time of parental protection is the norm in nature, but it still feels abrupt and a bit unfair. If I were a Momma Rabbit, you can bet I wouldn’t hop away from my furry little offspring until they were at least teenagers. I would be the ultimate Helicopter Kittycat Mom, hovering endlessly around my mewing brood.   

Deep down, though, I realize there’s a lesson to be learned here. We parents will not always be there, and encouraging independence is both necessary and positive. There’s no such thing as a giraffe who lives in the basement playing video games for decades. Animal moms and dads make themselves redundant eventually, gracefully making way for the next generation to assert itself.   

And so we will let Dimitri grow up. We will cheer his walking and talking and ball-throwing and yes, even his tantrums. He deserves a chance to become fully himself, and our job is to gradually loosen the ties that bind him to us.   

Meanwhile, though, we will relish our beautiful sojourn with the current Mayor of Babyland. He holds the Fisher-Price plastic keys to our hearts.