So, one day you made a baby.
A baby that influenced you in ways you could not have imagined.
You imagined baby giving you feelings of joy, purpose, and completeness.
A taste of the good life, the best life, with you as the creator.
But, baby couldn’t really give you anything at all, in the beginning, other than a pristine canvass upon which you painted beautiful, reciprocal, unrealized experiences.
You nurtured baby. Fed it when you, yourself were hungry. And you sustained baby first.
Baby sometimes kept you up at night and needed constant attention.
Swaddling, feeding, soft singing and cuddling you gave to baby when its attention deficit reared it’s ugly head.
Baby didn’t ask for your caring or concern, it demanded it.
When baby came calling, your plans went a-falling because everything revolved around baby.
Then baby grew up.
You encouraged it to grow.
Led by example.
Treat me like I have acted toward you, you would say.
But, baby had it’s own mind. It’s own way.
One day baby didn’t answer your call.
That day it ignored you.
Babies are babies, no matter how old, you said to yourself to soothe your new wound.
Then, it happened…
Baby stole from you.
Stole from you and gave it to someone else.
Another baby. A stranger’s baby.
You tried diligently to imagine that there was plenty enough caring to go around.
Baby could focus on another baby and would still have enough caring to return yours to you.
Patience, you reminded yourself.
An example was what you must be, remember?
One day it was the second day in a row that baby hadn’t returned your call.
Messages were left.
The employment of guilt was avoided even though you understood guilt’s vast power.
Baby was out in the world.
Baby was no longer your baby.
It was something you created and let go.
Baby had a life of it’s own…