“Monday’s Child is Fair of
Face”
The miracle
of birth…the anticipation and marvel of this phenomenon, and yet we do not
really experience that factual reality until those tiny little reproductions of
our extended selves are tenderly resting in the crooks of our arms for the very
first time.
Our eyes
roam that diminutive miniscule face for any distinguishing features that will satisfy
our hidden egotistic hope that we have indeed been cloned. Could that be Daddy’s
eyes…that scowl defiantly belongs to Uncle
Terry, that perfect upturned nose is borrowed from Aunt Bobbie, and there is Big
Bubbie’s smile…and oh… yay…she has her Mommies’ feet in miniature.
Our first encounter
with the results of replication, and “boom” we are catapulted into parenthood… a
most auspicious of occurrences. That is…until the creeping tenure of time brings
us full circle to the age of grand parenting.
I cradle my
grandbaby bathed in surreal reflection as I gaze across the room at the 200
pound baby, with arms bigger than my legs that… I delivered. Lounging in true casual
hunter fashion with camouflaged shirt and flip flops, he dangles one leg over
the arm of an overstuffed recliner (now the popular papa chair in delivery
rooms) and I wonder how someone born so small and fragile can grow into the
moose that I have produced. Thank goodness …this child is a dainty little girl.
As I bond
with my granddaughter, my thoughts drift back to the day I held my first born
for the first time, also a sweetly powdered baby girl. I was young,
inexperienced and alone. I tumbled hopelessly in love, and trembled at the huge
responsibility wrapped in that soft pink blanket. Love has a way of conquering insurmountable
odds, yet it cannot usurp another’s self will.
That beloved
little girl was to grow up and break every heart in her family, dying prematurely
from her own unfettered extravagance. A life, with such potential and talent,
but quickly burning out like a candle in a heavy draft.
My granddaughter’s impatient cries pull me
swiftly back to the present, and my eyes burn with unshed tears held back by
sheer force, unwilling to dampen this blissful event with my own selfish
wanderings.
As I rocked
this tiny bundle my heart softened with gratitude as I thought of the thoughtfulness
of my son, who in true southern style tacked an extra hub name on his darling …his
big sissy’s nucleus name. This baby would carry in a small portion a tribute to
my daughter’s existence as a person of recherché value never to be forgotten. I
did tear up, as my eyes came to rest on my lovely daughter- in –law. Her gracious
approval of this serious business of naming her daughter was a gift which only
she could relinquish to her husband’s mother. Her magnanimity touched a tender
cord deep within my core and helped mend the rip in my bruised heart.
This baby
girl with every tossed curl, every dimpled smile, every toddler’s’ kiss and
chubby hug, would bring her GG a hint of what was… and will continue to linger…
in the sandcastle thoughts of Geani
