Over the last several days my husband and I have had the immense pleasure of hosting our youngest daughter and eldest grandchild. Now the Burrito is ours for the week, and I have to note how differently time moves when caring for a baby.
Actually, time flows in two ways; slowly when the baby is awake, quickly while he sleeps. He’s napping now, why I have time to write this post, listening to Wimbledon tennis in the background. He was fascinated by the Andy Murray/Ivo Karlovic match, and I’m sure my grandson was as pleased as I was that Murray won. I’m a little sad that the Burrito will miss some, but probably not all, of the Roger Federer/Roberto Bautista Agut match. My grandchildren won’t recall Federer in his prime, but players come and go, just like moments of the day.
I’m grateful for my relative youth; it makes looking after an infant easier. Of course, there’s little issue when sitting with him while he takes a bottle. In those minutes, time seems to have stopped as all I focus upon is an adorable baby who lays in my arms, sometimes wiggling, usually placid. There’s no rush as we rest on the sofa, chatting about nothing in particular, other than how cute he is, how beloved. Then I sing the burp song; Burp burp, burp burp burp. Burp burp, burpy burp-burp, burp burp burp burp. And sometimes it even works!
However, time moves like lightning when he’s asleep. So much to accomplish, like blogging, ahem. Or unloading the dishwasher, or even ironing some fabric, ha ha. I had forgotten how babies usurp one’s day, and have been humbled by all my daughters tackle on a daily basis with their children.
But the other nugget about time is that for as fast or slow as it goes for me, for the Burrito these are days that he’ll never recall, only noting the changes within photos and movie clips. This morning I caught him turning from his back to his tummy; we knew he could do it, having found him on his belly after a nap, yet none of us had witnessed it. Today I did, and now the world’s his oyster. He scoots on his belly, traveling over various quilts. Soon he’ll be rolling around the room, creeping on his knees, crawling….
Oh my goodness, wasn’t he just the Burrito, swaddled and tiny? That was months ago. Nearly five months have passed since his birth, five weeks since Little Miss arrived. Where has that time gone, well, I don’t know, but it’s slipped away in fits and starts, as if time needs certain pressure points upon which to flow. I appreciate those slower moments, watching him suck back formula, then I scuttle about while he snoozes, or more rightly I’m sitting on my backside, noting those changes. Maybe one day he’ll peruse this blog, finding a part of his babyhood chronicled amid the rest of my musings. If he or Little Miss do that, I most want them to know how loved they are, how blessed I am to have shared in this part of their lives. I might be telling stories or sewing quilts, but I’m always thinking of them, praying for them. Being a grandmother is a unique treasure, and I’m happy to be young enough to fully engage with these charmers.
Sharing tennis, quilts, and books is a small part of the puzzle. Love is the binding key.