Julia, Baby Noah, and our first outing

We visited my nephew, Joshua, and his wife, Heather, and their new son, Noah, this weekend. Heather's family has had more than their share of challenges and they were very kind to Julia. They followed her lead, talked dinosaurs for hours, and let herself be herself. Julia had a good time but also displayed a lot of physical behavior -- flapping her hands, hiding her mouth and nose in her shirt, insisting on being dinosaur Julia. It was a bit hard for me -- yes, my ego is still wrapped up in having a child who generally fits into the norm. And oh my, that is not my Julia.

With baby Noah, Julia was shy at first -- not wanting to even look at him baby, but after a few hours and getting comfortable, Julia took her cousin Heather up on the invitation to hold the baby. And Julia loved it. She held, and touched his fingers and toes. She stroked his head and told me how soft his hair was. She did not even mind when I held Noah. Later and today, Julia said that she did not want to hurt baby Noah. I think that there was a time when she hurt a baby, and I think that it hurt Julia a great deal. I don't know if she really remembers it, but this has come up before.

Look at that face. Look at both of those faces.

Great uncle David with mommy Heather in the background.

Daddy Joshua and Noah. And the star of the show.

Holding Noah and watching his very lovely baby face, not my child, not even the child of my child, but honestly, I met his father just a bit older that he is now, so the connection does run deep. But watching his face, open and close his mouth, grimace, sigh, try to open his eyes in a noisy restaurant and then close them again. And I am struck that Julia was just about this age, with her pouty lips and a mop of black hair, and she was abandoned. I cannot understand. No where in my soul could I leave baby Noah -- I would scoop him up and bring him home if the rest of his family could not take care of him (oh, and there is no chance of that. Smile.) I should have scooped up another infant, older, but still so young, a long time ago. I was not a mother then and I did not have a mother's heart.

But my Julia. Tears come. Her mother, her family. Who were they? What this they think? Did they suffer? Do they still remember and mourne, as I do the baby I did not claim? Our cultures are so different, our early training so disperate, our circumstances so oposite. Maybe. I have no reference to understand. I send Julia's mother and father, and grandparents, and great aunt my love today. I wish I could tell them how much I love their girl and that I would willingly share her if they could be found.

A bundle in blue baby clothes and a note tucked inside a box found in front of a hotel.