Lucky Numbers

Since I was a young child, I have always felt like the number 6 was my lucky number. I don't know why exactly but it seems to come up a lot and more often than not something good follows. This morning at 6 am, I am waiting anxiously for grandbaby number 6 to arrive.

Taben King will join the ranks of the most beautiful babies in the world sometime today. My oldest daughter is in labor as I write and with any luck, I will make the 2 hour trip in time to witness the next miracle in my life. His mother, I suppose was the first.

We adopted her in 1977, but she was born in my heart in April of 1973. I was there when she was born and when I held her in my arms, I somehow knew then she was mine. She lived with us off and on for the next year until the pain of her leaving was more than we could bear and we petitioned for guardianship. Every time we found a sock under a cushion or stepped on a misplaced squeeze toy, our hearts would break a little more. Fortunately for us, her biological parents and the courts deemed us worthy.

It has been a roller coaster ride ever since but worth every penny of the ride. This is her first baby and a lucky baby he is. Taben has a wonderful father, who I am sure at this moment is bringing Taben into the world with gentle loving hands, soothing his mother as they cross together into the wild and wooly jungle of parenthood.

Patience is the order of the day, though my car has been ready to go for the past week and it seems like dawn will never break. I fed the chickens, watered the garden, walked the dog and am trying to swallow one of the blueberry muffins I just baked. Hurry up, Taben! The world is waiting to greet you and oh, what a world it is. But I have no doubt that my almost 6 beautiful, smart, savvy grandchildren will do an outstanding job of leaving their footprints in the sand where ours will inevitably wash away.

Until then, take my hand and let's walk and talk for awhile...that's what a wise grandma can hardly wait to do!

Guess What I Got For My Birthday

Months in the making and hours in the delivery, my birthday gift came with all the drama and excitement one would expect from a miracle. 

The stork dropped Miss Emilia in my arms on my birthday. Wrapped in a swaddling blanket and baby bonnet, I quickly unwrapped my gift to be sure that all parts were assembled. I had to stand in a long line of expectant siblings, grand parents, great grandparents, aunts and uncles to pass the bundle of wiggly parts around the room. First glimpses, smiles and flashing cameras all gave rave reviews to a tired mother and beaming father.

I hugged my daughter, who told me this was all she had time to get me for my birthday. Interestingly enough, I felt that my daughter was the real gift. One way or the other, we all knew a baby was coming. But my daughter was the most beautiful face in that room. I was so anxious to see her, to hold her, to make sure she was all right. The hours of waiting wore deeply in both our faces and the joyous crowd made it difficult to be heard. I hope she knows that she will always be my baby, no matter how many babies she puts into my arms. 

In our heart, in our arms, in our lives, in our thoughts, from the cradle to the crib, to school, down the aisle, to the delivery room and beyond, our children are engraved, sculpted from our very beings. And like any work of art, are priceless and enduring. Today, I celebrate my mother, and her mother, myself and my daughter as we again lay claim to the title "mother and child".

That's what a wise grandma would do.