The day you were born; my fierce maternal love looked into your blue eyes, soaking up new unexplored bloodlines says Liz Dickinson
Nestled into my warm skin, you curled up into a prayer position, as I marvelled at your tiny hands and miniature toes. Weighing 2.6 kilos; you were 850 times heavier than a paper clip, 6,000 times as heavy as a raindrop, but half the weight of an average domestic cat.
The midwives nicknamed you, “Little Sparrow,” in those early days before we decided on your name. Maybe it was your petite size that made me feel even more protective; wanting to bury you into my bosom and shield you from the artificial hospital lights and steady flow of visitors. The world is so big; skyscrapers loom into the sky, gigantic cars screech and aeroplanes boom through the clouds; how could a little sparrow learn to live in such a gigantic world?
