He's here!!

Maxwell Curtis was born on February 12, 2011 at close to 7 in the morning. He was 6 lbs, 4 oz, and measured in at just under 16 inches. What a perfect little boy. He looks like his Dad, but I can see a lot of Emily in him as well--particularly the shape of his ears and the shape of his eyes, which I am positive will crinkle every time he smiles just like his Mom's. It was such a thrill to hold him for the first time. I could have sat there for hours, just cuddling this precious addition to our family and memorizing every expression, yawn and sneeze. We can already see his wonderful little personality emerging...the nurses nicknamed him Mad Max, since he doesn't like to take no for an answer. Sometimes even a baby just can't wait for others to make things happen.

Baby Gazing

Emily implied that I am a baby gazer. She caught me staring at the newborn of my niece and nephew while holding her, and I must admit that I find little ones endlessly fascinating. I am incredulous at the perfection and sheer smallness of it all--from the tiny fingernails to the minute fringe of eyelashes. I also love the kaleidoscope of expressions, which are so unencumbered by social expectations and a fully developed (or maniacally controlled, in the case of most adults) nervous system. Yawns are like sunsets and squeaks and burbles like a symphony. I can observe endlessly and never experience the same thing twice, which is exactly what I used to do with Emily when she was that size.

Baby Shower, Part Trois

The most recent and final (I think) baby shower was held on January 30 at CAV restaurant in Providence, RI. There were about 16 of us, including Mark who always seems so comfortable wherever he is--even with 15 cooing women. A highlight was my sister-in-law Mary Beth who traveled all the way from Virginia by train to be with us. Another was my Mom, who at 89 years of age, was the bell of the ball. How lucky we are to have four generations of women to love this baby. Also, the shower could never have been pulled off without the assistance of my two sisters, who helped wherever they could. The favors, chocolate truffles from Sweenors in RI, were compliments of my Mom. Great time.

Countdown to baby...

Emily and Mark's due date is just about a month away, and I still have trouble grasping that there will be a new baby in our family is just a few short weeks. I've been thinking about how this new little life will change everything. For one thing, it expands our family and I am thrilled about that. It also expands our love. Just as we embraced Mark when he and Emily decided to get married, so too will we love this baby. And I really think he/she already feels our affection. When I hear Em and Mark talk to her, there's no way that he doesn't already know what's in store.

I found myself getting teary earlier today. There was a story about premature twins who were having difficulty after they were born, but began to recover as soon as they were snuggled together in the same crib. Life outside the womb is a scary place, and we all need and deserve as much cuddling as we can get--whether one is two days old or several decades. Nana's here with open arms.

More on the kind of grandmother I don't want to be...

11. The kind that sends  $5 check for birthdays and Christmas from the time the baby is born til the time they graduate from college, never acknowledging inflation or changing tastes.
12. Alternatively, the kind that only sends practical gifts.
13. The kind that says, "Grandkids are great because I can send them home!"
14. The kind that thinks they know better because they're old.
15. The kind that can't remember what it was like to be energetic 24/7.

Daddy's little girl

Em, like me, appreciates her Dad's insights and wisdom. One recent night they had a discussion about a father's feelings when a new baby is brought home. I learned something I'd never really acknowledged...fathers feel a little left out--displaced, I guess--when a newborn enters the picture. I can't remember much about it, but I hope I was sensitive to this when we brought Em home many years ago. I can't be sure. Mostly I just remember feeling dependent on him--for food, shelter and comfort--and this took a little getting used to for me since I've never liked that feeling. But in hindsight (and many years of it), I realize that life only works when we depend on each other, not in a stranglehold, but in an egalitarian way. "I need you," doesn't make me needy. It just makes me human.

Pictures say a lot

I love to take pictures, though I often forget my camera at the most opportune moments. I am a chronicler type of photographer, which means that I go more for the scrapbook moments than the art of it. Our daughter Emily, on the other hand, is a wonderful art photographer and has taken some astounding pictures over the years of such things as landscapes, architecture and, my favorite, food. We're all foodies at our house, and she has managed to immortalize the past several Thanksgiving feasts with magazine-worthy shots, course by course, that can make my mouth water--and I was there. But back to my pictures...As an example of my "type," I have many shots of Em as a little child that leave no doubt about the holiday or event that I was chronicling. Oh it must be Christmas: Em is all in red smiling in front of a decorated tree. Yes, it's Easter: Em is sitting primly on the grass with a stuffed rabbit and an overflowing basket. See what I mean? I leave nothing to the imagination or intelligence of the viewer. I go for the facts. For history. For truth. My Dad was a commercial artist, and much like Em (which is probably where her talent comes from) he always found the shot within the shot and elevated everyday life into something momentous. He took roll after roll of Em as a baby, perfectly capturing her sleep-heavy languidness just before nap, or her pure delight at the sandpaper tongue of a petting zoo lamb, or her intense wariness of a mall Santa. He never bothered with perfect hair or unruffled clothes or a centered background. He revealed her. And it just occurred to me that next Christmas I'll be photographing my 10-month old grandchild. I'll try something new. For Dad.

Making it my own

I ran into a friend of mine at the gym this morning, and she, too, is having a grandchild mid-February.We grandparents-to-be have created a kind of bond, sharing updates, stories and our thoughts and feelings about the whole grandchildren thing. For a time, there were seven of us expectant grandparents, but now we are six. One had a happy and healthy little girl just yesterday. Some of us are first timers, others are old hands. But the excitement seems just as true for those of us who've done this before as for us newbies. As I ponder this I am struck by the seasons of our lives. My friends and I  are all roughly within the same age bracket, give or take a few years, and we are reaching many of the same milestones at the same time. It seems we're ready to experience this new phase and make it our own, to leave some things behind and start some things new. Except baby boomers never do anything quietly or easily. We may have "grand" before our names, but we're not ready to let ourselves go gray, frumpy, lumpy or slack. We're getting advanced degrees, we're down-dogging our way to centeredness, we're still trying for that six pack and our hairdressers are the only ones who really know for sure. We're starting new careers and winding down old ones. We're finding love, and we think that's as it should be. We'll be active, engaged and amazing grandparents. We must.

A small but perfect village

Emily and Mark's baby is due mid-February, and the time is flying quickly. We're all busy buying things, ordering things, taking birthing classes and planning showers. But if I had one wish for Em--that money or time can't buy--it's for a cadre of women to talk to, share with and trust as she traverses those early months of motherhood. It makes me think of my sister Joanie, with whom I shared many hours on the phone when our children, born just weeks apart, were infants. Everything is so new to a NEW mother, including feelings that one might not have expected. Did I do the right thing? Am I good mother? Is it okay to wish for a few minutes to myself? Do I have to enjoy those 3 a.m. feedings every time? Will I ever catch up on my sleep...reading...work...exercise...you name it? Have you EVER seen a cuter baby?? I guess it's a kind of insecurity--the same insecurity that any new undertaking or adjustment engenders, be it a job, marriage or whatever. Especially when you want to do it well--better than anything you've ever done before. And Joanie is and always has been my hero, and I can only hope that I comforted her as much as she comforted and reassured me. So I'm happy that Em is going to mommy group meetings, taking classes and developing new mommy-to-be friends. It might take a village, but one best friend is pretty great.

Daddy misses baby

Em has been at our house in Texas for a little over a week, and her husband Mark is joining us all for the holiday weekend, arriving tomorrow. They talk almost every day, and Mark insists that Em hold the phone to her belly so he can talk to the baby, too. It never fails to get a reaction in the form of a kick or other movement. At 27 weeks, she has been reacting to sounds for a little while now, and definitely likes the tone of daddy's voice. Last night Mark sang his favorite Carole King song for kids of all ages, "Alligators All Around." This all makes me teary...must be sympathy hormones??

We're planning a party

We're getting into baby shower time. Em's close friend is planning one, to be held over the Thanksgiving holidays. Em's mother-in-law is planning one for December, and I'm planning one for January. The next few months will be busy, but what a great excuse to get together with old friends to celebrate something so wonderful. I've been busy making guest lists and deciding on some games, and it occurred to me that these ritual-type events are another way that women bond and create community.

Denial

I ran into a woman, about my age, who is also expecting her first grandchild. She is completely set back by the prospect of grandmotherhood and refuses to even think about what the child will call her. I think this is hilarious. Like me, it's obvious that she left her twenties a while ago, and if the smile lines don't give it away, the ages of her children certainly will. One can only get by with "I had my children young," for so long. Maybe she figures if the grandchild calls her by her first name people will think they're siblings or something? Or maybe if the word grandmother is never uttered within ten feet of her, it will magically turn back time? I, on the other hand, am embracing my crone-hood with excitement and grace and, of course, sunscreen.

Super saver

Sometimes I think I save way too many things, just because I am overly sentimental. Yesterday I took out the box marked, "Emily, 1977," so I could put it aside to show Em and Mark when they come to visit over the holidays. Inside was every card and letter we received congratulating us on her birth, as well as our wrist bands from the hospital and the little pink nameplate that was on her hospital basinet ("Baby Olson,") and one tiny baby shoe from the outfit we brought her home in. The rush of memories was well worth the storage of a few extra boxes of mementos, I've decided. It's not like I'm a hoarder or anything...

PS. This week the baby is the size of an heirloom tomato!!

Pick a pepper...

I subscribe to a website that emails me each week to tell me about the baby's development. It's so fascinating how much happens in the course of seven days and how quickly he/she is growing. From one week to the next, joints become moving parts, fingers and toes develop tiny little fingernails and toenails, the internal organs learn their jobs. I am fascinated and humbled by nature. But I find it interesting, and mildly funny, that the last bit of the email is always about weight and size--and it's always a food metaphor. A couple of weeks ago the baby was likened to a small avocado, then a turnip, now a ripened pepper. It's probably because there's a universal understanding about vegetables and fruits, thus making them the perfect international language of baby development. But when I picture my grandchild as produce, I have trouble imagining his or her perfect face without plug-in features like Mr. Potato Head. That's not right.

When the student is ready...

Husband: I'm going to teach my grandchild to fish.
Me: I didn't know you knew how to fish.
Husband: I don't.
Me: So how's that gonna work?
Husband: Well, I guess he or she can teach me.