I can't hug a photo

Em is emailing pictures of herself and her tummy development to her Dad and me. This last one we received is definite evidence of a baby on the way, since she's now well into her second trimester. She looks so great. At this stage, the baby is reacting to sounds, we've learned, so Em says she talks to her/him as she goes about her day. I can't wait to see her next month when I visit RI from TX. Pictures might say a thousand words, but I can't hug a photo. And I might have a few words to say to the baby, too.

Life anew

Okay, so I'm still cleaning out the attic, and the last several boxes have unearthed some great baby toys circa 1977. It was like a trip through time, as I unwrapped a couple of My Pretty Ponies, the Cabbage Patch Kids (with birth certificates), and all the Fisher Price stuff. I was amazed how well they have withstood the test of a hot Houston attic, about 33 years and a couple of moves. My intention was to give everything to a local charity, but I've since had second thoughts. As I washed and re-packed the toys, I had a sweet vision of my grandchild playing with them when he/she comes to visit. I imagined my regaling the little one about the Cabbage Patch black market in the early 1980s or the time Em decided to sell the whole stable of her Pretty Ponies for 25 cents at a garage sale or how we used to have puppet shows with the Fisher Price little people stuck to the ends of our fingers. Best of all I had a glimpse of recognition as we settled on the floor in happy play.

Women are weavers

One of the things I seek in my life is expansion--in people I love, in experiences, in knowledge, in personal growth and in spiritual understanding. I think that's true for many women: life is like a tapestry that we weave from the moment we are born, each thread connecting to another. When one is added, the whole is enhanced. When one is pulled, all are amiss. The prospect of being a grandmother is like being offered a perfect and colorful thread.

We are family

Em and Mark are going on a big vacation. When I was pregnant with Em, Curt and I did the same thing, thinking that it would be our last trip by ourselves for a very long time. We drove to New Orleans from Rockford, Illinois, and spent a week in the French Quarter. It was the winter of 1977, and as the Northeast and Midwest got pummeled by record snowstorms, we were eating beignets and sipping strong coffee at outdoor cafes. We had a great time, but after Em was born we had many more great times. We found out that while it's fun to get away alone for a weekend here and there (and we did, thanks to my Mom and Dad), we defined ourselves differently once we had a child. We became a family, and our happiest times were spent together.

Laugh or cry

Em and Mark visited the midwife a couple of days ago and heard their baby's heartbeat for the very first time. Mark video- and audio-taped the whole event, and we were able to share in this very intimate moment. Em said that the pregnancy suddenly became very real for her when she heard the first quick thumps, and I couldn't help remembering when I first heard my own child's heartbeat. All these years later I am still astounded by the profundity of it all. The urgency of the unmistakable sound assures me that this precious work in progress has lots to do and no time to waste.