Glory Ho

Dear Scarlett,

When you rose to meet me, you looked like a little old woman and a little baby bird at the same time, an old, wild soul, all scrunched up and sweet and full of ethereal wisdom, yet completely pure. There were no tears or screams, just awe and confusion on your pinker-than-expected skin. I felt every moment. Mommy was very tired and Daddy held you in his arms. Then we gave you a bath.

That first month of your life, I sat on the porch swing in my purple ruffles and sang Hush Little Baby, Old Shep and Jolly Playmates to you. I cried with confusion, exhaustion and happiness. I called Grandma Great. I called Grammy. I called Aunti Maury. I called Erin. They all told me it would be okay.

Thanks to Facebook, everyone knew about you right away. When I announced your birth, you got 57 comments and 27 likes all that first day.

I knew how to hold you, and I knew how to change your diaper and feed you. But I was still nervous a lot. I wasafraid that I will change you. You are so pure, so untouched, sun has never burned your skin. . .words have never bruised your emotions. . .guilt has never dented your conscience.

Daddy kept reading Dr. Sears’ Baby Book. We learned to shoot saline up your nose and take your temperature and with all this H1N1 stuff, Daddy got the flu and had to stay and Nonna and Papa’s for a couple days. One night, you wouldn’t stop crying. . .we were so scared, so we swaddled you and rocked you and eventually I cried with you. It was all I could think to do.

Your favorite activities were hanging out on my shoulder and peeing just as I slide off your diaper. You are a truly beautiful baby. Everyone says so. Then people say how they say that to everyone, but this time they mean it. Even the girls at Mountain Midwifery said you were beautiful. And they see a lot of babies.

On the third morning of your life, my friend Amy called from New York. We hadn’t talked in several months. Sometimes, relationships are complicated. She wanted to know all about you. Someday I’ll take you to New York City to see her. We’ll sing the TMBG song and meet my blog friend, Frances and we’ll go to a poetry reading.

But first, we must master breastfeeding.

Caitlin, the blond nurse with pixie features and Nordic skin from Mountain Midwifery came to see you last week. I was nervous for the dirty house, but Daddy said if our floors were too clean, well that wouldn’t paint us as very good parents, would it? She measured you and looked around and called you Madame and you loved every minute. She also found my Linea Negra, the faint line down my middle, a trace of you, still in my belly. It just means “black line” in Latin, but Caitlin made it sound exotic and beautiful. And to me, it was.

Do you remember living in my belly? When your sleep grins shine through, what are you smiling about? Do you hear Julie Delpy singing that waltz? Do you taste creme brulee? Do you dream about your previous life as a whirling dervish or a deep sea fisherman?

Do you like us?

Love, Mommy