The Gift

My Writing Submission yesterday....

When I think of a gift, a beautifully wrapped, probably professionally, package with coordinated bow, so perfectly tied, comes to mind. When I think of a gift my first thought goes to something material, however we all know that gifts can often be an offering to take, an unmissable opportunity. And in January of 2013 I was offered just that gift, an unmissable opportunity to care for my second granddaughter, for one month in Denver.

It had been years, probably 33 in fact, that I had cared for a three and one half month old child, but I assumed I could get right back in the saddle of motherhood without too much of a glitch. I was partially right. I was very quickly thrown into the fire of care and within days I managed to get my rhythm.

But I had forgotten the intensity of need and the labor of time. I awoke between six and six thirty each morning and within the hour I began my charged duties. For the next ten hours this delightful baby was mine. It wasn’t so much hard as it was constant. I had very little down time. I’m used to my down time now and it was hard to give up.

I had to plan my activities during her very short naps. If I spent too long thinking, well what can I get done, then poof she was awake. I could put in a load of laundry, but not see it through to completion. I could fill her bottle for the next feeding, wash the previous one and maybe clear the counter, but not much more beyond. This all painted a very clear picture for myself of how I use my time now all these 33 years later. I’ve grown accustomed to its extension from one task into another.

And then there was the management and manipulation of her physically. Babies are wobbly. Babies are unpredictable. Babies are adorable. Babies don’t always want to do what you want them to do. Like get in a snowsuit. Or be buckled into a carrier to go for a walk. But I discovered I can force such constraints on such a tiny being.

 It was rather comical to watch. I had to plan it out, just as I planned lessons for so many years. Do I put my coat and shoes on first, before I put on hers? Then I have to get my key and then of course the dog wants to walk also, so I get his leash and he waits, sometimes patiently, for permission. My daughter had an order to this chaos of taking a walk and I tried to follow it. First the dog and his leash wrap on the front porch banister while I carry the bottom part of the stroller down the steps to the sidewalk. Aven waits patiently, usually with big brown eyes straining to watch my antics. Then I pick up her carrier, which was far more weight than I had ever lifted in years, and locked the door. Then I carefully carried her down the steps, locked her in the stroller, one, two clicks for safety and ran back up the steps to get the dog. Whew, that was just the first ten minutes and we hadn’t even walked yet.

And the walk was an event in itself with the dog pulling in one direction to smell and sniff and do his business while I manage the sunlight drifting ever so sneakily into Aven’s eyes by folding and tugging and placing the blanket precisely. She needed to see me, yet her eyes needed shade. And then on the days there was wind I discovered she finds it extremely unpleasant. So unpleasant that her screams of protest were well detected by any passing by.

It was at these moments I remembered that even though babies don’t talk, they do communicate. I gained so much insight into my granddaughter’s personality. She’s a feisty little thing, much like her mother was as a baby. She knows what she wants and her cries know how to achieve just that. And when she smiled, she knew how to tug at your heart.

When I went to her bedroom to retrieve her from her nap she pulled those strings of love when she smiled. All rested, all welcoming, all warmth. She was so elated to see me and I couldn’t capture that moment enough.

And to see the growth, almost daily there was something new. In that month she went from no awareness of her surroundings to a constant turn of the head. She discovered the dog’s movements, she noticed strangers. Light fascinated her, as did the movement of her ceiling fan. Her mobile became a primary focus and something to soothe her. She loves being read books and I now have Brown Bear, Brown Bear memorized as well as being able to read Click Clack Moo in a British accent like her mother. I had forgotten how babies find comfort in such things.

And there was my fascination with her. Her tiny hands, so perfect, so delicate, so miniature. My attempts to wrestle her kicking legs to change her diaper were pleasurable. She was so enjoying her world. And she began to coo and squeal and giggle. The voice of others mesmerized her. We did finger plays and sang songs and just recited the vowels. She loved it all as did I.

It was all a gift. One of the largest and best I have ever received. A chance to be one spoke in that wheel of her development. A chance to be a part of her family for one tiny moment. As a long distance grandparent this was an opportunity I could not let pass by and I am eternally grateful to my daughter and son-in-law to ask and eternally delighted I could accept. Aven may not remember this wonderful month of January, but I will never forget.