Babysitting

I'm baby-sitting. Literally. I am sitting with a baby laying on my chest. He nearly finished his bottle (way to go champ!). He's closing his eyes in intervals interrupted by jerking legs and arms. I have a cloth diaper draped over my shoulder. He's wrapped in his papoose blanket. Every so often he lifts and rolls his head so our cheeks touch. He is my grandson Theo. I am in love.

Mama Laura had to go back to teaching when Theo turned five weeks old. She used up most of her maternity leave when he decided he wanted to join the world too early. Now she must schedule caregivers day by day. Husband Sam hit lead-off, watching Theo for the first two days. I got the next three.

Care giving is not like riding a bicycle. One (at least this one) does not simply pick up where one left off 30 years ago. It took two instances of not having the next bottle ready when baby needed it before I planned ahead. Let me tell you, putting the formula in today's bottles—with their super-cool but annoying gas bubble governors—with one hand holding baby is not easy. I did it. Twice. Nevermore, as the Raven said.

But the memories have come flooding back. The wonderful smell of the skin encasing that beautiful little head. The anger at the indignity of having a diaper changed. The feeling of accomplishment when you get him to fall asleep. The joy of being a parent. Oh, the joy.

Mama Laura and I stood beside his crib this morning, just looking at Theo. We did not say a word, but I feel confident I know what she was thinking. I believe it was what I was thinking. I was thinking that every once in a while God hands you a blessing. A blessing like standing with your daughter at your grandson's crib, remembering her as a peanut, sleeping contentedly in her crib. She has never stopped making me happy. Truly. But I have seldom been happier than I am right now.

I think I'll stop typing and just enjoy this moment before Theo starts squalling again. I have a bottle ready.