Deep in the heart of Texas a teeny tiny heart beats. High in the Rocky Mountains, my own heart leaps when my phone beeps and Sara texts: “The doctor says its heart is really strong! So the baby is good!”
It’s been a month since my son and Sara delivered the news via Skype that they are expecting. I had to set my laptop on the coffee table and do a happy dance right then and there. My first grandchild will be born late next spring, 27 years after I gave birth to my first child, its father.
It. The baby forming in Sara’s womb. Is it a boy? Is it a girl? “8 weeks and we will know the gender!” texts Sara. Riles adds, “I just want a healthy baby!” Yes, baby of mine (as Riles will always be, no matter that he stands almost a foot taller than me), I certainly agree.
This teeny tiny beating heart stirs joy into our days – its parents, its aunts and uncle, its grandmother…Grandma…Grammy…Mimi…Granna…oh! Who will I be? Who cares really, other than I, and the baby when he or she has learned to speak and pleads to come and visit me.
This teeny tiny heart beats and I am pleased beyond measure with this treasure, that this delicate developing child enriches our lives as we anticipate its arrival.
This teeny tiny heart beats and my son and Sara are looking at life quite differently. Two plus one equals a million changes. It is good they have months to prepare, but dare I tell them that as ready as they think they can possibly be, babies have a way of turning well laid plans inside out and upside down? No, they will learn that soon enough, just as they will surely find that they like life that way – smelly and fussy and kissy and cuddly.
Oh, little growing baby with your teeny tiny beating heart, boy or girl, you are rocking our world, and I am so very good with that.