On November 12, Tintin and John (but mostly Tintin) gave birth to a gray-eyed, brown-haired boy, whom they named Raffy, short for Raphael Ignacio. I visited the proud parents and the brand-spanking-new baby while they were at St. Luke's, but I couldn't take a good look at Raffy because he was behind the glass at the nursery. I couldn't wait to take a closer look at him when he'd adjusted to living outside the comforting confines of Tintin's tummy. I can only imagine how stressful it was for him to deal with the world of noise, bright lights, and smells that he was jolted into. Mama's birthday was on the 17th, so we celebrated it at Tintin and John's home since the new mother was still recovering from what I could only believe to be a highly traumatic experience (the childbirth, that is). Raffy was only five days old, and I realized I hadn't really been exposed to babies who are that young. Usually, I just visit new mothers at the hospital and view the infants at the nursery. Then, I would only get a chance to see the baby again when it was a few months old and deemed ready and old enough to be exposed to the rest of the world. It was an unusual and fascinating experience to see up close a baby who was practically fresh from his mother's womb.
I was entranced by Raffy. Ten tiny little fingers, ten dainty little toes. (The perfectly-formed finger and toenails were actually what really mesmerized me.) He still had the fine downy facial hair that babies are supposed to have when they're newborn. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he missing the silence of the uterus? Did having so many faces peering at him freak him out? Well, freaked out or not, I pointed my camera at him at clicked away. He probably thought I was a nuisance who was disturbing his nap, but he's too tiny to complain. Besides, he better get used to having paparazzi around. The new parents are bound to record every little thing he does, which of course, could only be magic.
