No Baby Talk
By Georgene Rhena P. Quilaton-Tambiga
I
just fell in love.
His hands
are so small my index finger barely fits in. His smooth pinkish skin still had
traces of vernix caseosa (a white, cream cheese-like substance that acts as a
skin lubricant in new born babies1).
Yet, the
most disheartening fact is that the woman who was taking care of him when I
visited him was not his mother. Editha would have willingly stepped in and
claimed him to be her own. But she couldn't afford to. I would have willingly
done the same, myself, if only...
Ken, this
is how Editha's husband would like to call him even though the couple knows
that he is there only for few precious days in both their lives.
Ken was
found in a flour sack cloth which was far from being clean, recounted Editha.
His eyeballs were not white but yellow. He was so fragile yet so charming no
wonder I fell in love with him. If only he could be mine but I already have one
adorable two-year old hurricane to take care of at home.
Looking at
Ken teleported me to my college days when I was researching for our advocacy TV
ad (which I have already mentioned in this column during the height of the
issue of a baby abandoned on an airplane). My heart bled for yet another
abandoned child. This time, though, the bleeding comes with an even more
overwhelming realization: that in our society many children are being abandoned
in so many different ways. And, no one seems to confront the question: Why?







