This was published on September 18 but some glitch caused it not to show up in my archives. I’m posting it again in the hopes that it will now show up.
Today is my oldest daughter’s twenty-eighth birthday. Truly, the math is impossible because I’m not old enough to have a daughter that old! One week ago tomorrow, she gave birth to her second child, a son. She did something I could never accomplish in life—give birth to a son.
I called her today to wish her a happy day, but it wasn’t necessary. Her voice sounds so strong and in control. And she is still sailing high on the aftereffects of new birth. There is absolutely no greater joy in life than having a newborn baby laying on your chest, skin to skin, bonding.
The photo I share is of me, holding my grandson who is only five hours old in the photo. He has been so alert and awake, taking in all around him. Only minutes old, he lifted his head and turned it so he could follow the voice of his older sister, a high-pitched voice he undoubtedly heard daily for the last nine months.
I am so proud of my daughter and her husband for the beautiful family they have created, for the job they are doing as parents in this tough, tough world in which we live. I am grateful for the opportunity to meet these grandchildren, fully aware of the fact that neither of my parents lived long enough to meet any of my children. And I am overwhelmed once again at the miracle of birth. I never grow tired of such miracles.