Earlier this week I picked my little grand-daughter up from Day Care. Peering around the corner, I caught a secret glimpse of her. Tiny and petite at only 14 months old, she sat upon colorful sponge flooring, playing with A.B.C. blocks. “Hi little Sweetie.” Hearing my voice, she bounced up like a silver spring, running full force towards the gate where I stood. Smiling big and wide, the two of her little arms shot straight up into the air. “Pick me up,” they said!
Driving home in the already dark of early night, I heard her talking to her favorite doll, the one with the bare bald head. A reflection from the car’s rear-view mirror revealed a little angel clutching her baby oh-so-tight. What a sight to see for me! A rubber face of Googly Eyes smack dab next to the rosy pink of my little one’s cheek. “Bay-bee, bay-bee,” she repeated over and over again.
Important first words for this little grand-baby of mine. Her mommy was in the hospital for yet the third of fourth time, waiting for her little sisters of identical twins to arrive. Still far from being due, the babes could come at any time. God would choose when, while we prayed that all would be fine. “Bay-bee,” a soft voice said once again. “Yes, bay-bee,” I responded back to her.
That evening, after my munchkin ate ‘mac-n-cheese,’ played in a warm bath of yellow rubber ducks and changed into pink fuzzy footed pajamas, I cuddled and rocked her to sleep. Gently, I laid my grand-baby into a spindled crib lit by soft blushes of a nursery night-light. Puffs of even breath spilled from her perfect pout as she snuggled a bald rubber head together with her favorite flannel blanket sent from home.
Tiptoeing carefully towards the door, I was almost ready to shut it quietly behind me. Hushed and silent, all was still within my grand-daughter’s crib. Until one soft, sweet familiar word. “Bay-bee.”