His eyes are so much like his mom’s that I am startled. He nestles into my shoulder, knowing that I’m not his mom, but that somehow – I am safe.
I stare and stare and I have no concept of time. I realize that I could stare at this wonder all day.
This wonder is my grandson.
I look in the mirror and I am somehow less concerned about getting older. I know that this is the way it will go, season after season, year after year. The proverbial circle of life is continuing, and somehow this is right.
He is all sorts of perfect. His soft, clear skin is a contrast to my sun-spotted aging arms. Yet my arms are still strong enough to hold him, to cuddle, to be there as an extra set when parents get tired or need time away. His eyes follow me, then crinkle up. For a moment I’m unsure – will he cry or will he laugh. He laughs, proving our connection in more ways than he knows.
I get chuckles and grunts, coos and yawns. I am smitten by this child of my child, baby from my baby.
Too soon our time comes to an end. The house is empty – only shadows remain as the day wears on.
I smile at the memories. “Until next time Baby” I say softly. Until next time.