The Pachelbel Switch

On the scale of things that soothe Sonya, Mitali and I have discovered that Pachelbel's Canon in D ranks just below a full dose of horse tranquilizer. We stumbled across this fact during Sonya's first night at home. It was around 2 AM and she was crying inconsolably. In a moment of brilliance, Mitali thought to play some classical music. As it happened, the first song she played was Pachelbel's Canon. Sonya immediately stopped crying and listened to the entire piece. Overwhelmed with joy, that very night we threw every version of that song we owned into the ultimate Pachelbel play list. Now armed with this potent sedative, during the day when Sonya so much as whimpers with discontent, we subject her to the most comprehensive collection of Pachelbel's Canon performances ever experienced by a human being: first comes the a cappella version, followed by a string quartet, a guitar solo, an improvisational piano, a lulling harp, a brass band, and the list goes on. When it's bedtime we gently massage her neurons again with the magical composition.

My only concern in using Pachelbel's Canon so liberally is that we are forging a deep Pavlovian association in her mind that could create issues for her later in life. I can only imagine the disastrous consequences of her enrolling in a high school music appreciation course: one day the teacher will start class with the opening of Pachelbel's Canon, inadvertently throwing the switch in Sonya's mind, prompting her to immediately collapse headfirst into a snoring, drooling heap on her desk.

However, for the time being, all three of us are deeply grateful to Mr. Pachelbel and the melodious opus that continues to bring so much calm and quiet to our minds, our spirits, and our home.

The Miracle of Sonya's Birth

It's now been over a week since Sonya was born. Looking back on the events surrounding her birth, I agree with every seemingly-exaggerated statement that has ever been used to describe the experience. I felt so proud to be there supporting Mitali through her labor. I discovered an unwaning admiration for her ability to deliver a baby with such poise, composure, and courage. When Sonya's head first appeared, I experienced a moment of sheer wonder at how life enters this world. As I caught Sonya and placed her on her mother's tummy, I was shocked at how slippery a freshly delivered baby is. After the nurses had taken Sonya to be warmed, weighed, and measured, I stood beside the delivery gurney, held Mitali's hand, and gave her kisses, overwhelmed by gratitude and love.

However, it was not until nearly thirty minutes later, when I experienced the miracle people always talk about. The delivery room had been cleaned up, Mitali was taking a shower, the nurses had all left to attend to other patients, and I was holding Sonya. The nurses had swaddled her tightly so that only her face and renegade left hand were visible. Her big eyes were open and looking around. I gazed down at her. "I love you, little Sonya," I said, giving her tiny, blanketed chest a squeeze with my hand. I raised my head and then felt a warm and soft touch on my finger. I looked back down to find Sonya's small hand grasping mine. I smiled and moved my finger back and forth cherishing this moment. My daughter had a firm grip and she was holding onto me.