On this wet, but so soul-warming December day in Chicago, Juniper is four days old. I think about her as I wake up in my "room with a view."
She will always be the youngest for me, just as Snowdrop will always be the oldest grandchild and as the carriers of two ends of this very special banner, they carry the burden and the glory of where they stand. With Snowdrop, I began learning how to grandparent in a way that would meet her needs and, too, the needs of her parents (because each parent looks to you for different things, both at the emotional level and of course in terms of connection to their child). With Juniper, it's a whole nostalgia trip! Each previous grandkid has been where Juniper is now. And she, coming last, is the beneficiary of all their firsts, their personalities, their experiences.
And since I do know that she will be my last little one, everything is special: my breakfast with her this morning, that important meal, with a four-day old...
And after: Did you know that if I put the camera on the table, I can stand with you by the white cubes and the tree and click us together? Like this?
(Or, put you down on the couch, by the tree, so you look like a Christmas gift to us all?)
I pick her up, we walk some more.
And I notice how with her, I don't want to rush to the next stage (as I admit to sometimes wanting with the other kids, not out of impatience but out of curiosity). I could walk her up and down, and up and down forever, with her skinny little newborn feet and her eyes, either shut tight or gazing out wondrously at the blobs and fuzzy images suddenly put before her.
When the older girl returns from a quick outing with her dad, I look at the whole family unit, big sister at the helm, leading the way forward for all of them (because what parent does not structure a day, a week, a life without first and foremost thinking about how their routines and behaviors will impact the child or children at home...).
More family members means more permutations: older girl with younger one and mom, dad and older girl, mother and babe...
And just before I go, one last big hug for the girl who was my partner in crime while we had the house to ourselves for the days her parents were at the hospital...
And now I'm back in the car, driving home, for once not worrying too much about the distance between us. I'll be back in Chicago on Monday.
For now, more thoughts, all of them loaded with smiles. Lighted candle, coffee with chocolate covered gingerbread, and half a cookie (Ed took the other half) that I made with Primrose the day her sister came home.
