When I told Ryan's parents that jb and I would someday let him have ice cream for breakfast, they both gave me a very strong look of disapproval. So I explained that he had to have something besides m & m's that early in the morning.
I think these are the hands of a concert pianist or a painter. My son-in-law thinks they are the hands of a baseball shortstop or a football quarterback.
It is beyond my comprehension that active and busy adults would spend hours staring into this sleeping face. But love trumps comprehension. Watching this little doll of a boy is as good as meditation, and maybe as good as __________ (fill in your own blank).
Jess spent months planning Ryan's wardrobe. His closet is filled with clothes ranging in sizes from newborn through the first year. But all that went out the window when he was born: here you see the hospital's standard baby hat and a recycled blanket. Fashion will no doubt resurface, but really, who needs it?
Here we are: Ryan is less than a hour old and Jess looks like she just left the beauty parlor. There's not much to say about me at 2 am since I had the same clothes on for far too long. As if there were any doubt, I totally absolutely heartwarmingly LOVE this daughter of mine. She is unique in all the world. I would give her both my eyes, not just one. BTW: jb will not allow me to post her photo on this blog. But I can confirm that her joy at this event, after spending every night before bed reading about how to care for babies, because she was nervous about being a new grandmother, is boundless.
This boy will be loved and cared for. I know that is not true of all children, and I pray that I will never pass up an opportunity to change that. I hope you won't either. It's not right that kids get stuck with the luck of the draw when parents are assigned. I wish every child had a second family to watch over him/her, as a safety net.
I can remember Jess' birth as if it were yesterday. I can tell you every detail about breastfeeding her, entering her room at midnight just to smell her and then stand there and cry, the moment in the back seat of the car when she said her first word ("light"), her little birthday parties, the baby food I made and froze myself, the time she got hit in the face with a soccer ball, the first time she brought a boy home for dinner,...
I could go on straight through age 29, which is today. I would end at today by saying that my daughter is now Ryan's mother, and every bone in her body is good and decent and caring and spunky and kind.
How did I get so lucky to be able to say that? All I did was love her, afterall. For her part, she forgave my mistakes, she kept me honest, she insisted I be present, and she loved me back.
That, Mr. Ryan, is what you can look forward to.