Harry's Rage

This is Harry: my sweet, rage-filled baby. This is not how he looks all the time, but this is one of my very favorite pictures of him - it makes me laugh every time I see it.

I don't love this photo because I enjoy seeing my child suffer; I don't. I love it because it's such a clear reminder of his perspective, and my own.

Until recently, Harry did not know hunger, pain or cold. He'd never felt fear or had a tummy ache or even seen light. Now, every day, he's bombarded by change. Sometimes it's pleasant, like the feeling of falling asleep as he's snuggled up against me, his belly full of milk made just for him. Other times it's (clearly) awful, like when he has to spend any time in his carseat or when the stroller slows down for a millisecond. Or speeds up. Or goes over a bump. Or is on a surface that is too smooth. Everything is new, and that means he has to adjust to a new reality.

From my perspective, he's the most perfect human ever born, he's surrounded by people who ache with love for him and literally fight over who gets to change his diaper. He has all the advantages that come from being born into a financially and emotionally stable family in America. From pretty much every perspective I can think of, he's got it made.

And so, I love this picture. This picture reminds me to be compassionate. It reminds me to stand a moment in someone else's shoes. It reminds me of the vulnerability that exists in this world, in babies, adults and animals, and what a beautiful gift it is to be trusted with that vulnerability. It reminds me of how much I have, how much I have seen, and how resilient I have become. It reminds me how much more there is to be experienced and shared in this life.

(But also, that toothless wail is just too much.)

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