Twenty-One

Learning to walk

Newborn, I cradle you in my arms. So tiny, so precious. Eyes wide and deep brown, stare into mine with a wisdom still carried from the womb.

I hold you close to my heart, rock you as we walk through the house. I sit on the worn white sofa and guide your hungry mouth to my breast. As you nurse I gaze out the window at rows of spring greens bursting forth their life-giving leaves. Mustard, arugula spinach and lettuce sparkle in the spring sunshine as tulips bloom in pots on the porch.

Someday, I think, this world will be yours.

How far away such a day seemed on that spring morning in 1991. A day when this tiny being, now drawing nourishment from my body, would step out into the sunshine on her own. So many days must first pass – long hours learning to crawl, to toddle on the porch holding onto those pots for balance.

There will be birthday parties, trick or treating, colorful paintings pinned to the refrigerator. Childcare, first days of school and graduations. Temper tantrums and

Rosie’s Turning Twenty!

Baby Rosie, fall 1991

Grown up Rosie moves into her dorm room, summer 2010.

“Honey?” I shook my husband’s snoring form beside me. “Tim! I think this is it!”

“Huh?” He slurred in a voice thick with sleep, “Are you sure?”

“They’re real contractions, and they’re about five minutes apart. They hurt! Maybe we should call the midwives.”

The glowing numbers on the bedside clock read 4:30, Tim reached over and patted my belly briefly. “Okay honey, but you know what they said. This is gonna go on for a while. Try to sleep a little. We shouldn’t wake them up yet.” And he rolled over, stuck the pillow over his head and was snoring again within seconds.