Last weekend, we met the newest member of our family. A summer fish fry was the perfect time to get everyone together for the big introduction. Grandparents, Great Uncles, and cousins all came together to meet our July Firecracker. He’s the newest person I’ve met in a very long time and the only person I’ve ever known born on the 4th of July.
It’s hard to describe the moment you lay eyes on a soul so fresh to the world. Just two weeks old, he quietly controlled the room in a way only a newborn can. Tiny, still, and oozing softness, he was more powerful than any words or gestures offered.
I forgot how tiny babies are. Even though I’ve held a few in my time, the memory of that size fades. The weightlessness of a newborn feels more like holding a feathered thought than a person. With his head barely larger than my hand, his fingers were like delicate threads. His chest rising and falling in barely perceptible rhythm, I wanted to whisper, breathe carefully and not move too much. Of course, his adoring fans went wild with excitement, while he remained unimpressed.
Sleeping the entire time, there were no cries or fussing, just the steady sleep of someone who’s come from somewhere else entirely. Newborn sleep is unlike anything else. There’s a mystery to it, as if they’re still tethered to a world we’ve long since forgotten. You find yourself staring at their face, wondering what their dreams are made of. Whether the tiniest twitch of a lip or the softest sigh, every micro-expression feels sacred.
What struck me most wasn’t just the baby, but everyone around him. All eyes were fixed on his every move. Everyone wanted their turn to snuggle, but no one asked. A nervous new mom stood inches away, sure that any one of us could break her little miracle. I passed on my turn to cuddle him, as there’s plenty of time for that once his newness wears off.
Normally, there’s a hush that falls over a room with a newborn in it, as if everyone instinctively understands that something miraculous has occurred. In our case, conversations drifted into awe. Laughter softens into smiles. Eyes linger a little longer. Even those big strong Marine-types who don’t normally coo or fuss over babies found themselves marveling at the sheer rightness of this new human.
Perfection in a onesie. Plain and simple. We all agreed the newest little family member is a keeper.
In a world that feels perpetually unfinished and chaotic, a two-week-old baby is complete. He doesn’t need to achieve or perform or prove. His very being is enough. In fact, his existence is a kind of quiet protest against the world’s noise and a reminder that life begins in softness, stillness, and love. It’s easy to forget that we all started that small, silent, and perfect in our helplessness.
Present were five veteran teachers with extensive experience and knowledge about child development through our own children and past students. But now that this unique newborn has dropped in to stay, all that has gone out the window. He’s two weeks old and already teaching us so much without ever saying a word.
If there were one thing I would share with our sweet new mom, it’s this:
Now, hurry up and grow. I can’t wait for a proper hello.
More tomorrow.