Baby Love
Right now, you are one month, seven days old. You are so tiny that even newborn clothes are too big for you. Your hands get lost in over-long sleeves, and even though I’ve held many babies before, and loved them all, you feel especially precious to me. I am amazed by how tender I feel as your infant fingers grasp mine. I roll up your sleeves as if your arms were made of something as fragile as rice paper. When I change your clothes, my eyes delight in your knobby knees, your long slender feet, and the rolls that are beginning to show on your arms and thighs.
You’re so tiny at 6 pounds and 4 ounces that you feel almost weightless in my arms — you’re also warm and beautiful, and I don’t want to put you down. I want to watch every change in your expression as you sleep, from your knitted brows to your quivering lower lip. I want to watch as you awaken, your gray eyes squinting in the afternoon light, your mouth opening like a baby bird waiting for a meal.
Your skin, especially the top of your head, has the delicious scent of new life. Some people liken it to baby powder, but that’s not it at all. It’s more like I imagine rain might have smelled in the beginning of time, when the Earth was green and lush and pure.
I hold you high up on my chest, so that I can place my lips on your downy brown hair and breathe you in - my heart beating against yours, my long breaths against your short ones. Instinct finds me rocking or swaying, and I almost laugh when I discover that my body has been moving for quite some time with no conscious thought. Back and forth, to and fro, aware of your every movement, but beautifully lost in my own contentment.
I just can’t get over how tiny you are. I wonder if you will be petite like your mother, or if you will grow the broad bones of your father. I wonder if your sleepiness now comes from your mother’s calm, laid-back nature, or if you will eventually take on the impatient, wide-awake curiosity shared by me, your father, and your aunt. None of us likes mysteries or surprises. We question authority — we question everything. We don’t think “maybe” is any kind of answer, and we believe “I don’t know” should be replaced with “let me find out”. We peek at gifts and start holidays early because we can’t stand the suspense.
We drive some people crazy. We need easygoing, laid-back people like your mother around us, not only because their calm natures smooth our jagged edges, but because they tend to be more amused than upset by our inability to walk past a stone without turning it over.
Your mother already lives with one of us, and perhaps the kindest wish would be that she have a daughter more like herself, but I can’t help but think of all the fun we’d have getting into mischief together. I have secrets I’ve never told your father or aunt — but I’d tell you. I’d also share the practical jokes I’ve stored because I never wanted them to be played on me, and tell you stories so exciting that they’d keep you up way past bedtime. I couldn’t do that as a mother, but as a mother-once-removed — (excuse me, I’ve not quite gotten used to nana or grandma yet) — I’m not as concerned with things like routines and rules.
Then again, if you’re as mellow as May sunshine, I can see us curled up in a big chair, where I’ll tell you lullaby stories and teach you the alphabet. I’m a great teacher, especially when it comes to reading. After the age of ten or so, you’ll have to go to someone else for math — but I rock the phonics, and you’ll know how to spell words like dilemma and curiosity years before your schoolmates.
My kitchen skills are limited, but I make a mean spaghetti, a decent spinach lasagna, and wickedly good salads. There’s always jasmine tea and orange juice at my house. If you’re more Devin than MacDonald, you won’t drink milk past the age of two, so you’ll have to eat a lot of beans, peas, and broccoli — but you’ll learn to like them. When you’re bigger, I’ll make you fruit juice popsicles, and I’ll have a drawer full of swirly straws and kid-sized dishes.
We have so much to do, but here you are — still floating in your newborn clothes. I won’t rush you, and I’ll hold you as long as you want me to while you’re tiny and sleepy, but the suspense my little love . . . the suspense is making me want to peek into the future, or unwrap you like a holiday gift. Has it really only been one month and seven days? What color will your eyes be? Will your hair be wavy or straight? Will you prefer adventure stories or fairy tales? Will you be my curious co-conspirator or my calm companion?
Will you give me just a hint? Whisper something into my ear? I won’t tell — I’m very good at keeping confidences. It will stay between you and me until you’re ready to tell other people.
What’s that? You’re sleepy? Okay, baby. . .close your eyes. I’ll just have to wait a little while longer.
Jane…I LOVE THIS! beautiful thoughts….thoughts I am sure will make your wee grand~baby smile one day!
Positively PERFECT! The baby, the joy, the anticipation; I was right there with you, yum! spingle. Perfect.
Gorgeous. I love “….more like I imagine rain might have smelled in the beginning of time…” - just perfect.
Congratulations mother once removed…
How blessed are you with such a gorgeous granddaughter and daughter-in-law! I hope MacKenzie is as laid back as her Mom; it’s so much easier. Perhaps we miss some fun, but someone’s got to hold down the fort for the rest of the family! Oh, how I miss having babies in the house!
It sounds like Spring Sunshine has come early for our North Coast Sage.
congratulations Nana, MacDonald’s are a fabled Clan and somewhat fierce…
This moved me, and I’m not even a mother once removed. But I adore my own mothers once removed.
Beautiful photo. I rocked to and fro while reading…
I think God makes babies so beautiful and smell so good so we can always remember back to those days and don’t want to throttle them when they get older. As I lament my son turning 14 next week, (is it because he is turning 14 or that I’m 14 years older?!) I have to remember that he too was once a joy to behold and there weren’t enough words to describe how perfect he was. These are the tough years, but it is all part of the experience and I wouldn’t miss a minute of any of it!!
awwww. true bliss.
OMG! That was the MOST BEAUTIFUL love letter I have ever read!
Beautiful. Thanks for sharing, Jane.
I read this yesterday and it has stuck with me, and every time I look at Cole I just keep thinking about all the little things you wrote about and how hard it’s going to hit when this new little person is going to be in our lives and have similar features and quirks and I just get out of my mind excited. So thanks
Thank you all so much for sharing in my joy. I promised I wouldn’t turn into a mother-once-removed blog, but it’s tempting. I almost forgot the physical sensation of preciousness. You know what I mean.
The photo is so precious. Jane, be ready for the questions. When she is four she might say “Granny, will I ever see a mermaid?”.
Totally magical. They say having a child is like having your heart removed from your body. Having a grandchild just rips that heart right out again! (In a good way, of course….or at least I think so most of the time.)
They do come up with some great questions, as Ann Parker mentioned, above. The latest from my 5-year-old granddaughter….”but who made God???” Her Mother has decided to introduce her to the concepts of God, the Big Bang, etc… Why? Life was so simple before…
I understand — her sheer presence is intoxicating. The texture of her skin, the smell of her… “Freedom has a scent like the top of a newborn baby’s head,” as Bono put it in U2’s Miracle Drug.
Congratulations! I’m sending lots of love and blessings to you and your family.
p.s. You’ll get used to Grandma…
so so sweet!