The Newbo

It was more than twenty five years ago, and it was a day that I will never forget. I had given birth to my second son in the beginning of September. I brought him home to a one bedroom apartment. The bedroom was big, both of my sons slept in there and my husband at the time and I slept on a foldout couch. I had already learned how precious life was I had had two previous miscarriages, and I was lucky to have gone full term with both my sons. I had a tubal ligation at the tender age of 21; there would be no more babies.

A couple of weeks later I had noticed a lady carrying something small in my apartment complex. I had seen her once before with a man that had lived in the building. It was a baby, I really didn’t know anyone in the building at the time, we had just moved there. A couple of days after that I got a knock at my door. I invited the lady in and she said that she had to get to the store and get more diapers and formula for the baby and she asked if I’d watch her. I said sure, so she brought her over. I never asked about formula or anything because she was just going to the store, it was about 4 blocks from where we lived, and I had diapers.

When she brought her to me she was crying. After she left the baby was still crying. The baby never stopped crying. I walked the floor and I sang to her, I fed her some from the formula that I had, I tried burping her and the baby never stopped crying. My oldest son was colic and so I was use to the different techniques to use to try and sooth a baby, but this one was so different. This baby just shook. She kept putting her tiny fists in her mouth, so I thought she was hungry. Feeding her did not ease her misery at all.

I looked over at my newbo
sleeping peacefully. He was making those cute little baby expressions on his face. The one cornered smile, the frown, and the big smile. He was a very peaceful baby and the kind of baby that loved to be cuddled. This baby was the opposite, so restless and just craving something that I couldn’t give her. So I continued to walk the floor; there were no tears, but a constant misery.

The lady never came back to pick up her baby, the man that she was with did. He apologized for her, stating that she was exhausted and had fallen asleep. I never questioned it because I myself was exhausted. I have to admit I was very happy to see him. By the look in his eyes, he truly loved this baby. And she had recognized his voice, her crying subsided.

A couple of months had passed by, I only saw the man occasionally coming or going to his car. I stopped him one day and asked about the baby. He said that the baby had been taken away from her, and he gave me the reason. He said that the baby was a crack baby, and he was just a friend helping her out. Well, what a friend he was.

And I think about those events all the time. I think about all the little babies shaking in the hospital. Sure you have the doctors examining them and prescribing medicine and running tests. But the real person that cares for these babies are the nurses. It’s their caring voice, their gentle touch, and their knowledge of exactly what to say and do that is the reason that these babies actually make it and survive in this world. In all my hopes and dreams I pray that the nurses do not become desensitized with everything that they see. That each day they go into work and touch a premature baby or a crack baby, or any baby that is addicted to anything or is struggling with any disease, that it will be to them like walking on the job that very first day. With that same compassion and nurturing that only a true nurse can give.

As far as for the little newbo
baby girl, she was put up for adoption. She was adopted by a very loving and caring family.