baby - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
His bright blue-green eyes found mine and he laughed, as only a baby can laugh a sweet sound unblemished by the hurts of life. His little face glowed from a light within, and his miniature fingers grasped mine, and held tight. He knew! Somehow it felt like he knew I needed comfort in the dead silence of night, he knew I needed joy in the midst of my pain. I held him to my chest tightly, I would never let this precious bundle go no matter what came I would protect him. Even to the point of death.
Jasmine would often describe her baby as frenetic and fractious. 'She was born with a hurricane for a soul, that one,' she would say. But she said it in a loving way with that soft glow in her eyes that only a mother can have for such difficult offspring. She would rock her in the dead of night when she found it impossible to sleep and she would wear her all day long in a baby carrier so that she would be calmed by the body to body contact. She would soothe her with lullaby's and stroke her tiny back and soft hair. She would whisper sweet things in her ears and cover her with kisses. She would love the hurricane right out of that child and replace it with a sweet summer breeze because above all, she was her baby, and she loved her with a power mightier than the wind.
The baby was a pink newborn and had milk spots in his early weeks, obscuring what might otherwise have been quite an endearing face. His hair, which had been thick at birth, later receded as it fell out and it made him look somewhat like a little old man. His cries as a small infant were snuffling, like his nose was blocked and when he was hungry he would root on anything, turning his head and opening his little mouth. He was a dear little thing, born at only five pounds four ounces, but he gained weight fast on his mother's milk and soon looked not too different from other babies of the same age. He became quite chubby, developing those chubby bracelets where the fat folded at his wrists and ankles. He was an easy baby to wean, opening his mouth wide for every bite.
Kajri's first child was one of those golden babies. She nursed every four hours, never cried and slept all night from right out of the hospital. Kajri assumed it was her superior mothering skills that were to be credited for the well-adjusted, bonny baby's behaviour. She gloated in an understated way with her friends and privately told her husband that the other mothers were not as good with their babies as she was. Then it appeared that the God's had answered the jealous prayers of her friends when her second baby was born. He swept though the house like a whirlwind, upending their lives. His cries were sharp like a wounded animal and he seemed to only sleep for half an hour at a time. He fed, he screamed, he napped, then he fed again. Kajri was more humble after that.
Annie's first baby was a colicky infant. He would feed for an hour, scream with trapped air for an hour, sleep for an hour, then start the whole cycle over again. Although years later when she would retell him stories of his early infancy, she would gloss over this detail and describe him as a bonny infant who smiled and cooed. It was as if her memory had been selective for only the good moments no matter how fleeting they had been. She had forgotten how he had made her into a walking zombie for months, how she had lost all track of day and night and almost slipped into a depression. All she recalled was the overpowering love she had felt for him then and still did feel now, even though he was a grown man with a family of his own.
When her first baby was born a wee six pounds and an ounce, she would dress her up like a little dolly and show her off proudly. She felt for sure all of the other mothers would be jealous of her little baby, when she looked so much cuter than their eight or nine pound offerings. But when her second child was born a whopping nine pounds and seven ounces she was overjoyed to describe him as a large strapping baby, sure that his size was a sign of robust health, and again she felt that all the other mothers must be jealous of her baby. Never once did she ever show the slightest sign or awareness of the contradictory nature of her positions, but that I suppose is the blind but passionate love a new mother has for her infant child.
Haidee grew wickeder every hour, and Bran was the naughtiest baby in the world, sleeping all day and howling all night, withal drinking away his mother
In the candle lit room stood family and friends, each one ready to make a pledge to how they would help this baby girl their lifetimes. She was a precious gift of the Creator's light, a pure soul. When she cried they shed tears too, her cries were to be expected. This child was freshly arrived from heaven; being further away from the Creator wasn't easy and it was their job to fill her with so much love that she could be happy on Earth - safe and content in the knowledge that not only her parents, but her entire extended family loved her and watched over her. The baby was passed from person to person, each holding her, cuddling her, before carefully placing her into the arms of a trusted other. The ceremony was beautiful beyond measure, not in expensive flowers or fancy food, but in the sharing of genuine heartfelt emotion.
There was no bonnier baby so long as he was being held, he would smile, eat well, snuggle and be the perfect "bundle of joy." But he was not a baby to be put down, not even for a minute, not even if he was fast asleep. Once that skin to skin warmth and the subtle movement was gone he'd be screaming so loud the neighbours would come running - surely something terrible had occurred! And so his mother grew strong arms to carry him as he grew and nights found him right next to his parents, always cuddled right up to one or the other.