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My husband and I were wondering today why babies and old women seem to fit together so naturally. Do we all remember each other from a previous life time, some elsewhere where we were happy together? Is that surprise and wonder at meeting each other really just relief and joy that we are finally reunited again? And, if so, why aren’t we all more glad to see one another on the daily?
I’m not the only Bubbe on my block, all the other ones are Asian and don’t use a lot of language. We all know “how old?” We hold up fingers. We pass each other on our walks. The kids don’t really socialize yet, they don’t have to, they have the Bubbes to do that for them. One older woman asked me how old I am and I told her. She’s even older (she looks better though, trust me on this). She sighed. I did, too. Then I said, “I don’t care, I love being with him.” She nodded her head and said something back to indicate assent. We smiled, moved on.
It is happy/sad to have a grandchild so late in my life. Sad because I won’t get to see him grow up, he won’t remember me, won’t remember this day, this sunny afternoon in the garden, already doesn’t remember our dear dog who adored him and only passed away three months ago.
But babies are right now projects. Today he woke up from his nap a bit early, had to be rocked back to sleep again and then wouldn’t let me go, I lay down with him because the number of days when we can be like this, together, comfy and happy and close, pass swifter than an angel flies and some days that’s pretty fast.