It was the birth of my daughter. The appearance in light of another person. It is a miracle! Life, which you gave, pains which passed for the appearance of a new person. The first cry. Facing that new life. I froze, dumbfounded. It is difficult to convey the feelings I felt at that moment.
Some wrote of their amazement at their baby’s sublime beauty, as in this forgivably hubristic example from Mexico.
The birth of my second daughter, and she was a very pretty girl when she was first born, contrary to all other babies who don’t look good recently born.
Babies have a transfixing physicality: a baby’s hypnotically large forehead, anime-like eyes, little lips, and small chin capture onlookers in awe-like absorption. In this astonished state, the besotted caregiver forgets about the spit-up on their new blouse, the years of sleep deprivation, the involuntary sexual asceticism, and the disappearance of evenings out for dinner or with friends. I can still recall with awe the first time I looked at my daughter Natalie’s face, just as she emerged from Mollie’s womb, and how in her eyes and mouth and cheekbones and forehead—a system of facial morphology built up by sixty genes—I could see the geometries of generations of grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, and a mother, shaping the features and contours of her face.
People spoke of the arrival of a new life as a gift, as in this example from Indonesia:
Witnessing the birth of my firstborn. It had been a long wait, about eight hours, from eleven p.m. to seven a.m. I was there with my wife throughout her painful labor. But when he finally emerged, I just couldn’t believe what a beautiful and wonderful gift God has bestowed on my wife, and I just couldn’t stop smiling and feeling awe and grateful to God for giving us a son.
For some, the arrival of a child triggered epiphanies about time, as in this story from South Korea:
That vague wonder that I felt when I was pregnant turned into wonder and awe of life as I gave birth. I also felt the expectations and joy for the next generation, as it is the law of nature. It was also an opportunity to realize how precious life is.
And about the responsibilities of protecting a new life, as in this story from Japan:
When I gave birth to a child for the first time, I was deeply moved by the realization and responsibility of becoming a parent, as well as the preciousness of life. From now on I felt that I would desperately live just to protect this life.
Many narratives referred to the bodily responses of awe, the tears, chills, tingling, and the urge to hold and touch and feel skin-to-skin warmth. Common to the narratives were references to a sense of transcendent, boundary-dissolving connection whose neurophysiology is now becoming understood. Recent research finds that both parents show elevated levels of oxytocin, that neuropeptide that promotes boundary-dissolving openness and connection, six months after the birth of their first child. And a region of the mammalian hypothalamus, the MPOA, activates patterns of parenting in both women and men, whether heterosexual or gay. The MPOA is responsive to the sights and sounds of infants—the skin, cooing, cuddling, touch, mutual gaze, and fragrance and softness of the tops of their heads. This region of the brain activates dopamine release and deactivates the threat-sensitive amygdala. This synchronized neurophysiology of parent and child underpins the shared attention and intersubjectivity so common in experiences of awe across the wonders of life.
In many stories, people found their own moral beauty in the birth of a child, as in these narratives from Russia and China:
The birth of my son. It was nine years ago. I was happy with the maternity ward. I wanted to hug the entire world.
The birth of my child made me truly have the sense of awe. It made me see the miracle of life and it also made me more tough and tolerant when I interacted with people around me.
Some stories revealed how the arrival of a child triggers the nesting instinct humans express as childbirth approaches, which this Brazilian dad finds in, of all things, buying new furniture and filling out forms!
The birth of my first son. In 1992. I was in Natal Rio Grande do Norte. With me was my first wife. Before, I bought new furniture to welcome him! Right after, I took care of making him a health insurance plan.
There are a limited number of species, outside of bird species, that “nest” like we do. The nests they create are where offspring are born, and out of which community members forage for food and return and eat together in safety. The “nests” we create often contain cultural archives of awe—music, lullabies, books, images of people of moral beauty, mobiles with beautiful geometries, wallpaper with life patterns. Those nests become home, an entrance into a culture’s ways of awe.
And what is true of new caregivers is true of grandparents, so often awestruck by the arrival of grandchildren, as in this story from France:
