"And she shall bear a son (or daughter) and wrap him (or her) in pink or blue,
and you shall find him (or her) lying in a bassinet...."
This was the message we wrapped in rocking horse paper for the grandparents. PopPop opened his first on Christmas Eve. It took him a second. When we told him the due date, it took him just a little longer. "Four more months, that's it? Congratulations, girl!" And he gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek along with a quick hug. Pappaw and Ima got the "gift" the next day. They took a couple breaths trying to make sense of it. After all, they were watching their 8 month-old grandson on the floor trying to crawl in and out of the boxes his toys came in. Once again, hugs and kisses abounded.
The night I went into labor, we called PopPop. He flew over and told us to "get going! And bring home a pretty one." We knew what he meant. He wanted a granddaughter. His only granddaughters were hundreds of miles away in Ohio, a separation that grieved him a lot, especiallyat holidays. He had only raised sons, and they had produced a high percentage of male children as well. A little Zub granddaughter in Baltimore would be a welcome, (spoiled rotten) treat.
You were expected on April 27th, but I have a habit of bearing children early. (Might be the only thing I do early, perhaps because of the involuntary nature of birth?) April 21st turned into April 22nd and finally you arrived around 5:30 pm. Three words: beautiful, dark-haired, and crying. Your dad had wanted his first girl to be named Sarah Grace long before he ever had a wife. I had no say in the matter, but I loved the name. Still do. Sarah means "princess" and "Grace" means .....uh, let's see....grace! I believe God gave me a prophetic sensing that one day you would walk among kings and princes as well as with the lowly of the world. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I have seen the prophecy unveiling.
Back to Babyland:
You were a serious, unhappy, colicky baby. You'd set Ben off with your crying, and pretty soon I'd join you in tears on the kitchen floor, all three of us bawling. Dad, poor man, often faced the giants of hormones, diaper rash, and projectile vomiting upon his arrival home from work. Is it any wonder he felt his day was just starting at 5 pm? I remember the night we tried everything from eight till midnight to get you to stop crying. Finally I put you in the car and drove. No desyination, just a ride. Dad stayed home with Ben and went to bed. I felt a kindred spirit with all beyond-their-wits mothers as I cried and drove, cried and drove. Ended up at Dunkin' Donuts, the only place still open. (It's a safe place to be at midnight; all the cops are there.) At the drive-thru I pulled up to the window to order a Bear Claw and a decaf coffee. I wanted the taste, but oh boy, I didn't want to be awake any longer that I had to. The cashier leans out her window, peeks into the back seat and says, "Oh, what a sweet baby."
You were asleep.
--------------
Tomorrow: Part 3 (hang in there)
and you shall find him (or her) lying in a bassinet...."
This was the message we wrapped in rocking horse paper for the grandparents. PopPop opened his first on Christmas Eve. It took him a second. When we told him the due date, it took him just a little longer. "Four more months, that's it? Congratulations, girl!" And he gave me a sweet kiss on the cheek along with a quick hug. Pappaw and Ima got the "gift" the next day. They took a couple breaths trying to make sense of it. After all, they were watching their 8 month-old grandson on the floor trying to crawl in and out of the boxes his toys came in. Once again, hugs and kisses abounded.
The night I went into labor, we called PopPop. He flew over and told us to "get going! And bring home a pretty one." We knew what he meant. He wanted a granddaughter. His only granddaughters were hundreds of miles away in Ohio, a separation that grieved him a lot, especiallyat holidays. He had only raised sons, and they had produced a high percentage of male children as well. A little Zub granddaughter in Baltimore would be a welcome, (spoiled rotten) treat.
You were expected on April 27th, but I have a habit of bearing children early. (Might be the only thing I do early, perhaps because of the involuntary nature of birth?) April 21st turned into April 22nd and finally you arrived around 5:30 pm. Three words: beautiful, dark-haired, and crying. Your dad had wanted his first girl to be named Sarah Grace long before he ever had a wife. I had no say in the matter, but I loved the name. Still do. Sarah means "princess" and "Grace" means .....uh, let's see....grace! I believe God gave me a prophetic sensing that one day you would walk among kings and princes as well as with the lowly of the world. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I have seen the prophecy unveiling.
Back to Babyland:
You were a serious, unhappy, colicky baby. You'd set Ben off with your crying, and pretty soon I'd join you in tears on the kitchen floor, all three of us bawling. Dad, poor man, often faced the giants of hormones, diaper rash, and projectile vomiting upon his arrival home from work. Is it any wonder he felt his day was just starting at 5 pm? I remember the night we tried everything from eight till midnight to get you to stop crying. Finally I put you in the car and drove. No desyination, just a ride. Dad stayed home with Ben and went to bed. I felt a kindred spirit with all beyond-their-wits mothers as I cried and drove, cried and drove. Ended up at Dunkin' Donuts, the only place still open. (It's a safe place to be at midnight; all the cops are there.) At the drive-thru I pulled up to the window to order a Bear Claw and a decaf coffee. I wanted the taste, but oh boy, I didn't want to be awake any longer that I had to. The cashier leans out her window, peeks into the back seat and says, "Oh, what a sweet baby."
You were asleep.
--------------
Tomorrow: Part 3 (hang in there)
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