another pic from the baby shower… r. l. hanna, all rights reserved, 2013.
By now I was hoping to give y’all an update on the cutie that is my granddaughter. But no, she’s not chosen her birth-date yet!
I’m out of my office, traveling daily to be with my daughter while we wait. Needless to say, I feel a bit out of sorts. Torn between the two, wanting the baby to hurry up and get here, and savoring the moments with my girl, just us, giggling and reminiscing together.
And then a searing pain brings us back to earth: the back labor is the most difficult thing I’ve witnessed as a mother. My daughter, immersed in the pain of parenthood. I can’t help her, I can’t relieve the hurt. The reality that there will be many moments like this sinks in, as I look into my mind’s eye, and imagine all the experiences she will encounter with her own daughter.
The cramp passes, and we start talking again, purposefully diverting our attention. I point to the nursery. “Looks good, sweetie.” We nod in agreement, “She’s got a fantastic looking room.”
The nursery, once a spare room, now houses white furniture, a new set of closet doors, ceiling fan, tiered curtains and braided throw rug. A mobile dances over the crib, which smartly converts to a twin bed when baby matures to toddler. Directly to the left is a tufted wooden rocker with footrest.
The bassinette, on wheels that lock, stands “pinked out” as are all the clothes, neatly tucked in drawers. Diapers line the closet, stuffed animals quietly perch on nearby shelves. Baskets stacked with books nestle, stories wait to be freed from their binding.
I glance at my daughter, “Tomorrow at this time, you should be holding little Sydney in your arms.” We grin and then she shudders.
Sensing her fear, I lean in to hug her. In a few hours, we will all go to the hospital for her to check in. The doctors are inducing labor, and we will spend this evening and the morning waiting.
We dry our dampened cheeks and I, doing my best to distract lead with, “Now that I’m considered a grandma, you know I have to plan my next meal. Old people do that.”
We roll back, laughing as I pull out my phone. Seriously, I am searching for a take-out place. After all, doctor’s orders are, “Eat before you check into the hospital.” She must be a grandma. 🙂