A tiny bundle was handed to me, her eyes stared big and round. She was my baby.
She slept, she cried, and she grew. She was my baby.
Everywhere I went, so did she. She was my baby.
She learned to talk, and say, “I love you.” She was my baby.
She went to school, I stayed home and cried. She was my baby.
Kids can be cruel, some used names, I held her while she cried. She was my baby.
Time leaped forward, too soon she left, her room was empty. She was my baby.
She met a boy, he became a man and they were married. She was my baby.
The circle of life moves on, I was told she would be a mother. She was my baby.
They said the chances her baby would live were low. She was my baby,
We prayed and we prayed, God had a plan and saved her baby. She is my grandbaby.
She was healthy, her parents named her Grace. She is my grandbaby.
Her eyes are soul-piercing blue, her smile is quick to flash. She is my grandbaby.
Her chubby little arms so soft and smooth, reach up to mine. She is my grandbaby.
Pattering little feet exploring, strolling from room to room. She is my grandbaby.
Precious little hands waving goodbye, she is my grandbaby.
I hear of those, forgotten behind bars. They were somebody’s baby.
Did their mother caress them, did she hold them tight? They were somebody’s baby.
The drug addict with glazed haunting eyes, she was somebody’s baby.
How will I treat her, how will I love? With what eyes will I see her? She was somebody’s baby.
My heart was changed times three, my firstborn, my last born, and my grandbaby.
When I’m tempted to criticize, to pass on by, I close my eyes and think, “They were somebody’s baby.”
“Can a mother forget her nursing child?…Yes, she may forget but I will never forget you” (Isaiah 49:15 ).
Written by Shawna Wright
This is an updated edition of a post originally published on https://www.shawnawrightart.com/somebodys-baby/.
Featured Image by Ricardo Cruz