The beginning of everything he’s ever going to be is here now — in that tiny perfect being, my grandson, Alexander. He is humanity in a Ralph Loren onesie. I watch his miniature features spontaneously rehearse all of the expressions his face will ever form — he frowns, grins, rolls his eyes, purses his rosebud lips, wrinkles his tiny nose. He cries only when his diaper becomes too unbearable. Mostly he eats and then he sleeps, tucked against his mother’s (my daughter’s) heart.
I watch my grown-up child nurse her own child with intense caring, diligence, intent. She says “I understand, now, what they mean when they say that you learn to love your children.” She is learning to love as a mother loves.
Alexander’s father is at her side most of the time. He can’t do the nursing (although I can tell that he wishes he could), but he is right there, making sure that she has everything she needs when she needs it. They are an seamless team. A true family.
I am here mostly for moral support, cheerleading, and affirmation. And to cook dinner. And take photos, which I will download when I get back home. And to sit next to my daughter and listen and listen and listen as she talks through her concerns and fears and hopes and limitless joy.
Alexander. Our universe.