Deep in the jungle, under a grass hut a woman screams in pain. She breathes heavily while using every muscle in her body to retain life, as she desperately tries to deliver a new one into the world. The loved ones around her are useless and insignificant. Her guttural breath is audible and becomes one with the morning fog that hangs below the palm trees. She pushes for the last time. With this, a new precious soul enters the Earthly domain. The mother’s exhausted body collapses in relief. Even so, she has more than enough strength to lift her baby girl from the floor mat and hold her close to her chest, inspecting her fragile body with thoughtful love. The mother cleans the blood from her new daughter, and the baby cries.
On the other side of the world, in Eskilstuna Sweden, a mother sits in a hospital room in while her five-year-old has an ear operation. In hopes that this surgery will help the daughter hear, the mother puts all her faith into surgeons, nurses and support medical staff. When the doctor calls the mother in and claims the surgery a success, the mother sits anxiously by her baby confirming every breath is a sign of health and comfort, and waiting to greet the girl when she awakes, so she knows she’s safe. One hour passes, two hours pass, three hours, until day turns to night, the mother never leaving the bedside, not even to stretch, eat or drink. Finally, the girl’s eyes quietly open, and her first sight is that of her mother’s smile, an unspoken symbol that her mother has been and will always be there. And the baby cries.
In the deep south, a single mother works overtime as a nurse and still has trouble paying the bills. As she brushes her daughter’s hair, she asks the ten-year old how school is that day. The young girl whips around dramatically and throws herself into her mother’s warm bosom. She unloads all her woes to her mom; math is hard, she reads too slow, worst of all Sara is mad at her and now no one will talk to her at recess, and also, she misses her dad. The mother, having had no sleep herself, thinks of a way to help her daughter. She certainly has more important things to worry about than her little girl’s over dramatic view of a world that is actually much harsher than the child can imagine. Nonetheless, the next day the girl walks up the driveway and sees a beautiful auburn horse munching on grass at the side of the house. Of course, the last thing the mother needs is another mouth to feed, but those adult problems will have to be addressed later, she tells the girl, that the horse will be a good friend and now she can join the other girls at the local corral. All this, to see the joy on her daughter’s face. And the baby cries.
While trekking the Pyrenees Mountains of Spain a relationship parishes. The twenty-something year-old lovebirds have grown apart and the American girl is left alone half-way across the world. She walks miles to get to an internet café and calls her mama. “He’s gone Mom, he left and I don’t know what to do.” A boy problem, these are a dime a dozen. The mother knows that this will pass and in a week the young woman will have forgotten all about what’s-his-name. But like all mother’s do, the New Yorker feels her daughter's heart wrenching pain, regardless of how fleeting. She drops everything; notifies work, cancels weekend plans and makes an urgent flight reservation to Barcelona. The daughter waits eagerly at the airport for her mother, her only friend that would do such a thing for something so mundane as a break-up. After an hour of watching lovers unite and families hug, the mother finally exits customs and sees the whites of her baby’s big, green eyes. And the baby cries.
Deep in the heart of Africa, a Muslim woman sits for relief. Her ankles are swollen, her stomach is the size of a basketball, in preparation for the birth that will be in a few short weeks. In the dead of summer her discomfort nags her like the never ending poisonous sting of a scorpion. Just then her mother rushes in with some fruit and begs the young woman to eat. The chit-chat between the two companions, mother and daughter, brings laughter and silly stories that softens the harshness of carrying a child. Then in typical subservient fashion, the mother brings in cold water to bathe her daughter’s swollen, calloused feet. Of course, the mother’s feet hurt too, blackened and dried from the dirt while cooking and going to the market to ease her daughter’s weight. Even so, the mother has just enough energy to get down on her knees to pumice, clean and lather her suffering daughter’s feet with lotion; just as she has been doing since the day she was born. The young woman looks down upon her mother, a mother who is more deserving of such treatment. The young girl feels the joy of a mother’s love and knows she will always be her baby. And the baby cries.
Deep in the jungle, under a grass hut, an old woman kneels at the mat of her ancient looking mother. The mother is breathing heavy, her lungs have little ability to hold the oxygen it needs. Her skin is thin and tattered from a life of caring for her family and friends. Her heart beats soft from, for it has no reason to rush anymore. Her brain is exhausted from delineating, solving and curing life’s diseases. She uses every muscle in her body to squeeze her baby’s hand as if to say goodbye and screams in pain for the very last time. As her breath meets the morning fog that hangs under the palm trees she closes her eyes in relief from her exhaustion. And the baby cries.
