...a Momma's arms

This morning I dropped my 13-month old son off at a good friend's house so I could go to the doctor. When I came back, he just MELTED into my arms, wrapped his arms and legs around me, buried his little face in my neck, and wouldn't let go. My friend told me that he had spent the entire time I was gone crying for me. Not just whining, but all-out, snot and tears bawling.

On my way home the thought really hit me that on the other side of the world there are babies and children who cry and cry and cry for their Momma, and may NEVER feel the warm, comforting embrace of her arms again. They may NEVER feel that absolute relief of having their Momma rush to scoop them into her arms and kiss their sweet faces.

I have a hard time letting Little Guy cry himself to sleep at nap time... and on the other side of the world, a newborn may have been crying for hours in the alleyway he was abandoned in.

I doubt most of us have ever observed the real pattern of a child's crying past the point of distress. Can you imagine the millions of un-comforted little ones? They have gone past the initial panic of not knowing where their Momma is. They cried themselves to sleep, woke up again, and Momma wasn't there. They were hungry, thirsty, cold, hot, needed a new diaper. They cried and cried, and Momma still wasn't there. Can you even imagine?

My sons both cried as if they were dying if I didn't nurse them within minutes seconds of waking up from a nap. Don't even ask me to tell you how torturous sleep training a baby is for me. Have you ever even thought about how babies cry after they have cried themselves to sleep, woken up, cried some more, fallen asleep hungry and lonely, and woken again, still hungry and lonely? The lucky ones are found before it is too late. Scooped up into stiff arms, gruffly toted off to an orphanage. In-processed. Placed in the baby room or the toddler room. Fed enough to survive (hopefully). Cared for by (hopefully) wonderful nurses and nannies, but just how much attention and love does a little one get when a caretaker is shared among 6, 10, 20, 50 other little ones? Even the most loving, caring nanny can't replace the warm, loving embrace of a Momma.

I run to comfort my Big Guy when he skins his knee, and on the other side of the world, (heck, even in our own country) a child has no-one who even cares if he is hurt.

When my boys are hungry, I seat them at the table, open my fridge, and choose one of many nutritious and delicious foods for them. Yet all over the world, millions of families don't know when their next meal will be.

I feel so humbled. So powerless and small.

As my toddler sleeps in my arms after he has filled his little round belly with good warm Momma milk, I wonder about the many little ones who have no arms to sleep in, no Momma milk, and certainly no chubby bellies.

I look at these arms of mine, and think, wonder, pray. I can't wait to bring our daughter home from Ethiopia, to hold her in my arms. To love her. To rock her to sleep. To comfort her when she cries. To feed her when she is hungry. Maybe even nurse her (*gasp*).

There are 5 million orphans in Ethiopia. FIVE MILLION (yes, yes, soon to be minus 1 and all that). Clearly more needs to be done. By me. By you. By all of us together.

~Do you have any ideas?