I'm in DFW, hanging out with my son's family, waiting for the arrival of a grandson. He's apparently in no hurry to make his appearance, and at this rate he and I may share a birthday (June 8). That would not thrill his mama, and I can sure understand that, but a few years down the road it would be sweet. So maybe.
In the meantime I'm here cooking pulled pork barbecue, brownies, lifting a toddler in and out of the car, onto and off the changing table, and such. Seeing my DIL so heavy with child makes me wish I could feel that feeling, of life moving inside you, one more time, and even more that I could go back and refresh what each of my daughters looked like when they were carrying our other grand babies.
Yesterday I sat in a rocker, singing Itsy Bitsy Spider, rubbing a soft little back, and brushing baby curls out of sleepy eyes, and remembered back to my babies, and our family's other babies. It's so exhausting to have little ones underfoot that you tend to wish the days away, only to come back twenty or thirty years later and long to hold them again, just for a moment.
Maybe that's one of God's sweetest gifts, letting grandmothers revisit what they were foolish and silly to rush through the first time around.
Oh the grace of slow, meandering days when the most important thing I do is to stack blocks and roll on the floor, giving tummy tickles, watching twinkly blue eyes begin to crinkle at the corners, til the smile spreads and I am rewarded with a grin made up of baby teeth yet to make their appearance.