My baby has a baby. I've spent the last 10 days reveling in that sweet, sweet reality--Sophie Jo. Beautiful, small, and soft, with her daddy's Asian eyes and her mommy's nose, and just the right amount of shiny brown hair. And despite this being grandbaby #4, I am enjoying her just as much as I do Mandy's three girls. It surprises me still, the shocking, intense love I feel with each new baby. Never old hat. Or boring. Or ho-hum. So pardon me as I wax poetic.
I have had a tiny little roommate since last Saturday night, allowing her parents to get some much needed sleep. I treasured every sleepless moment, every cry, every poopy diaper. I'd swaddle her, feed and burp her, and bury my nose in the soft, fragrant skin of her neck. Even when Alex arrived and attempted to spell me a couple nights, I woke up, unable to not watch this little miracle. Sophie and I would sit in the nursery in the wee hours of the morning, looking at each other, her little fist wrapped around one of my fingers, and I would watch her chest rise and fall as she slept, eyes welling with tears as I remembered a slightly chunkier but equally precious baby girl I held in my arms over 32 years ago.
We bonded, Sophie and I, over the past ten days. When I arrived she was barely two weeks old, a petite little newborn with startle reflexes and impatient cries. When I left, she was chubby and more alert and in synch with our little schedule, patiently enduring the necessary diaper change preceding a nice warm bottle. My heart melted when she would turn her head at the sound of my voice, and that first tenuous yet beautiful smile brought tears to my eyes.
And then there is the heart-in-my-throat, overwhelming pride in watching my daughter blossom from a young woman to a wife and now to a loving mother. My sweet, sensitive Bink, who bravely conquered cancer, who stayed true to herself in spite of her selfish father disowning her, who puts more value on family and friends than on things. Who, despite her exterior tough, cavalier attitude about babies and life in general, displayed a maternal instinct and tenderness that makes my heart sing.
Mother-daughter relationships are difficult to navigate at times, unpredictable, and require honest communication, love, hard work and lots of prayer. And these relationships are even more challenging as our daughters become adults, wives, and mothers in their own right. Resentment and grudges have no place in them. Expectations have to be thrown to the wind--my daughters continue to exceed every expectation I have. There is a joy in the mother-daughter inner sanctum that can only be surpassed by my relationship with my God. I can hardly wait to watch this daughter grown into her own mother-daughter role.
Being the mother of daughters who have their own daughters makes me realize what a treasure, what a blessing, what a miracle it is to have given birth to such wonderful human beings.
And it makes me a better mother. A better daughter. And, hopefully, a better grandmother.
No comments:
Post a Comment