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Home
and Family
A New Grandmother
by Rifca Goldberg
"Aren't you excited about being a grandma?" my neighbor asks.
I answer with a grin, "Until I hold him, I won't believe I'm
really a grandmother!" "What's he look like?" she asks. I
know she's referring to whether the baby looks like my light-
skinned, green-eyed son or my dark-skinned, almond-shaped-
black-eyed daughter-in-law. I answer, "He probably looks a
lot like a baby." She grins. Me. One of the world's great
baby lovers; me who held each of my children so much that
people wondered out loud if my kids would ever learn to walk
. . . I'm older now; my back hurts . . . I mean, really! A
baby is a baby! And the part of my mind that keeps humming
the same tune: don't get too close, don't let yourself feel
too deeply, you're not going to see them often with them
living so far away, he'll be just like any other baby —
you'll hold him, say how cute he is, and want to give him
back after five minutes. * Two days before the bris we
go down and I do something I've never done before: I send my
husband and the other six kids to our hosts without me.
They'll have to manage without their mommy right now. I have
something really important to do — I'm going to meet my
grandson! I hug my daughter-in-law so tightly she squeals, I
nod and grin to my son, and then . . . Did I say something
about a baby being just a baby? Tears fill my eyes as
I hold a sparkling jewel, a multi-light-refracted diamond, a
tiny continuation of generations. How can this be? What are
these feelings I'm feeling? Space has stopped existing
— there's nothing but his tiny body in my arms. Time?
There's no such thing as time! There's only him. His very
being fills my universe. And after four straight hours of
holding him — I do NOT want to give him back!
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