Blink

(grandbaby # 2. we can't wait to meet her)

Thirty-two years ago today, I was hugely, uncomfortably, 2-weeks-overdue pregnant. I looked like a broomstick that had swallowed a watermelon, as my father-in-law loved to remind me. I could sprawl on the couch, rest a plate on my belly, and eat dinner in a semi-reclining position.

In fact, that's about all I could do.

My daughter was born at 6:30 p.m. She was beautiful. So tiny. So perfect. I was terrified.

Then I blinked.

She walked onto the school bus like it was nothing, proudly wearing her kindergarten name tag. I could just see the top of her head as her little hand waved from the window.

I blinked again.

She stood in her dorm room, her eyes welling up with tears. "Don't leave yet," she said. "Let's go out for lunch."

I blinked again.

She walked down the aisle, looking like a princess and whispering to her dad to stop crying and secretly hoping for the best, as all brides do.

I blinked again.

She smiled up at me from the hospital bed, pulling back a corner of the little blanket so I could see her perfect baby daughter.

I blinked again.

She walked in with her husband yesterday, holding the ultrasound pictures for baby number two and trying to keep the happy secret as long as she could. "Look," she said. "You can't tell from the pictures if it's a boy or a girl. But these are her hands, and her little feet. And this is her heart."

Ah yes. Her heart. It's such a miracle, that little heart. It's inside you right now, my darling daughter. But even after she's born, it will still be a part of you.

Always.

Even if you blink.

Happy birthday.

~~~