More babies...

We just returned to Texas from a memorable trip to RI to visit family. Em and Mark look wonderful, eagerly anticipating the now imminent birth of their baby. We kept marveling at the fact that in less than two months, they'll be parents. The time has flown these past several weeks, and it's been so much fun to watch all of us grow--into new roles as parents, grandparents and support groups. Emily, of course, has "grown" the most, with her cute little belly taking over her slender figure.

Just a couple of days ago, my nephew and his wife gave birth to a beautiful little girl, Grace Elizabeth. We saw them on Christmas day (the baby was due the end of December) with their first child, Colin, and we got a call on January 4 that Grace had made her entrance into the world, happy and healthy. There's lots to be thankful for.

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.

Happy third trimester!

Em and Mark just left to return to RI after an extended Thanksgiving holiday. What a wonderful time we had talking, visiting, eating, touring Houston and getting to know baby. Em looks great, with her little bump adding a womanly dimension to what will always be--to me, at least--her youthful looks. And now that the wee one is well into his third trimester, we know that he can distinguish sounds. Mark makes it a point to talk to the baby, and she literally shifts in Em's belly to the sound of his voice. So of course, Nana-to-be had to try, too. I got up as close as I could, introducing myself in that tone that women use exclusively for babies. After a couple of tries, she gave a hearty kick and continued to do so every time I talked to her during the several days they were here. Curt says she kicked because I was annoying her, and he may be right. But I'll stay elated in my fantasy anyway.

There's nothing like a baby

 Babies offer hope for our own future and that of the world. Babies let us dream. Babies bring people closer together and teach us that true happiness comes from giving. Babies make us confront ourselves with honesty and truth. Babies are a reason to celebrate, and they turn otherwise staid adults into something new and joyous. Babies remind us that there is always something to laugh about. Babies teach us that being yourself is always good enough. Babies don't expect anything, but get everything we have to give. Babies expand our limits to the edge, then just a little bit more. Babies show us the true depth of our ability to give love, expecting nothing in return. So little. So profound.

Lucky baby

I just got back from visiting Em and Mark in Rhode Island, and what a wonderful experience it was. Emily's belly is getting quite pronounced, and the baby is very busy...and I felt him moving. I can't begin to describe the excitement, not only because I can't wait to welcome this child into the world, but also because I see the absolute joy in the parents-to-be. I was also invited to accompany them to their regular doctor's visit, and I heard the heartbeat, thanks to the indulgence of the midwife and also, of course, to the kids for including me in this private moment. What a lucky baby. Mark is such an active participant and watches over Emily with love and concern and consciousness. Emily is so careful with her health, keeping a pristine diet and exercising regularly, all while staying happy and composed. It makes me so proud to know these two exceptional adults.

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.

Moms need play dates, too

We’d moved to Michigan just a few months before with a new baby and new employment for my husband. I was headlong into adjusting—to foreign surroundings, motherhood and a job that required Curt to be on the road for extended periods of time. I longed for familiarity and adult conversation. What I managed instead was a routine of feedings, naps and daily outings to remind me I was part of something beyond the walls of my home and the dullness of the ‘burbs. We were on such an outing when I heard the squeals of a child. I turned to see a beautiful little girl, arms flapping and legs, though confined by her stroller, purposefully propelling herself towards us. My own daughter turned toward the ruckus with a wary glance, and their eyes met in instant and happy recognition of their mutual baby-ness. One a towhead, the other a brunette, they cooed at one another as we adults introduced ourselves. The play date we arranged turned into a decades-long and singular friendship between the mothers that has withstood maturation, distance and the ambiguities of a long life. I still marvel at the essentialness of it. Perhaps this was a quirk of fate or simply the tenacity of a toddler. I prefer to believe in the magic of the universe, the perfect confluence of time and events that can neither be planned nor anticipated, but simply received.

I wish this for Em as she traverses the joys and challenges of motherhood.

One at a time

When Em and Mark decided to get married a few years ago, I sent a small gift each month of their engagement to let them know that though I lived far away, my heart was with them. I sent things like personalized stationery, monogrammed towels (I embroidered them myself!) and champagne glasses for their wedding day toast. I've decided that I will do the same thing during this momentous time in their lives. I found a bonnet that my my husband's grandmother had made and embroidered, and I bought some cute onesies and a very fashionable maternity top, as well as a few other things like books and magazines. I wrapped them all up and intended to suggest they open one per month. But since I'm terrible at keeping surprises like this, I wanted Em and Mark to open them all while I was in town so I could see their faces. It reminds me of the reason I never start Christmas shopping early: when I buy something I am excited about, I don't have the self control to save it for the appropriate time. Perhaps I just think every day should be a celebration, so why wait?

What's that color?

There's discussion about the color of the nursery. Em likes orange. Mark doesn't. I suggested flying "orange" under the radar as "melon." My son-in-law is smart.

Let's talk

Em and I had so many wonderful conversations during my recent visit, and I am thrilled that she will one day share such moments with her own child. But these talks are nothing new, since we started them before she even developed language. I remember Em at less than a year old: she'd make very deliberate eye contact, don a serious let's-get-down-to-it expression, then chatter on and on, testing her newfound voice, experimenting with sounds and inflections and even a few hand gestures (thanks to the Mediterranean side of the family). I witnessed the beginnings of her amazing humor when she'd babble a bit then giggle at her own baby jokes. Her voice would rise in the shape of a question, and she'd await a reply from me. We'd converse like this for hours, like two old friends over a prolonged afternoon tea. I understood her every burble, and she, I'm sure, mine. Still.