The Music of Babies

A faint, racing heartbeat.

The first sound I heard from my baby was nothing short of miraculous. A matter of weeks after I held the positive pregnancy test heralding newly created life, I heard the life-changing music of my baby's tiny beating heart. I marched to the drumbeat of that first sound for months while I waited for the next song.

Months later, after hours of shocking contractions and desperate pushing, I heard the most beautiful, relief-filled, pain-erasing notes. I heard my brand new baby, out in the big world, crying loudly: "I'm here! I'm yours! Cuddle me! Feed me! Love me!" And I did. I wrapped my arms around her as she wailed, and I communicated silently back: "I'm here. I'm yours. I'll always love you."

The first night, in spite of being awake for over two days, my husband and I stayed awake listening to the music of our baby. We were held captive by every sigh, every suck, every whimper. Her hiccups had us whispering to each other across the dark hospital room: "She's so sweet. She's so perfect." 

Over the first two months, she spoke to us in grunts and dolphin noises. Grunting may not sound very musical, but to me it was. My baby's grunts were at once funny and beautiful. They murmured: "I'm here. I'm yours. Cuddle me, feed me, love me." And I did.

In no time, the grunting ceased, and my baby began to coo. Cooing meant contentment, and she was a very contented baby. The little vowel sounds never ceased to make me smile. 

Quickly, it seemed, the vowels attached to consonants, and my daughter began to speak the babbling language of babies. Her cries began with an adorable "Boooo-waaaaaa" that, accompanied by an amazing pouty lip, had me hiding a smile as I comforted her baby woes. Around this time, she looked me in the eye and chattered, and I chattered back. She woke us early in the morning as she lay in bed, chatting happily to the stars and moon that hung above her crib. She was truly the world's cutest alarm clock.

Along with the babbling stream of ma's and ba's and ga's came other sounds. She pushed air out of her lips to make little raspberry noises. Scritching and scratching became common sounds in our home as she discovered the interesting textures all around her.

One early morning at the family cabin she woke us up with "THUMP -rattlerattlerattle... THUMP -rattlerattlerattle." She was having a grand time kicking the hollow-sounding bottom of the Pack-n-Play and hearing her baby doll rattle away in response. (When my husband took the doll away, she communicated with a truly pitiful "Booooo-waaaaa" that she didn't appreciate having Daddy stop the fun just because it was 5 in the morning. Daddy gave the dolly back.)

And she laughed. The first time she laughed, her daddy was holding her while I danced a ridiculous version of the Hokey Pokey. My older brother got a bigger laugh when he spoke to her with his high-pitched chipmunky baby voice. One quick laugh turned into a giggle. Giggles turned into belly laughs. Belly laughs became squeals of delight. Baby laughter is the sweetest music. 

I know what's coming, and I look forward to it greedily. I watch and listen for her mamamama's to become that first crystal-clear, no-doubt-about-it Mama. I can only imagine the flow of words that will follow. Soon enough, too, she'll be off the floor, pattering around the house in barefoot beats of percussion.

Baby music fills our house from the first happy babbles of awake to the soft rhythmic breathing of asleep. It ripples around our house, singing: "I'm here! I'm yours! Cuddle me, feed me, love me!" And we do.