Earlier this week my niece Emmeline had a baby. Patrick. I saw her on Sunday afternoon at a family get together on the beach in St Kilda. Ten days overdue, she laughed and tapped her belly telling us it was all a phantom. She looked tired but in the way of most women in the last stage of pregnancy she had an extraordinary beauty, like a luscious rose about to drop its petals.
On Tuesday my brother sent a text just before 8 in the morning to say that the baby had been born. His first grandchild. That message probably went all around the country as he let each of us – his eight brothers and sisters- know the news. I went off to school feeling incredibly happy.
The next night an email arrived with three photos taken in the hospital room. The first picture opened slowly on the screen from the top of my brother’s grey flecked hair across his pale face – a face I realize now, with features much the same as Dad’s- down to his arms where he’s holding a tiny baby wrapped in a bunny rug and wearing a white beanie. My brother’s fingers are spread open across the baby’s chest like wave-lines on a map. One hand spanning the life of another.
The second photo showed four generations of the family - great grandmother, grandmother, aunt and newborn. All eyes are on the baby.
In the last picture, Emmy’s wearing a red t-shirt and her long blonde hair’s pulled back from her face and held in a pony tail. She’s lying sideways on soft white pillows on the hospital bed. Just beneath her, tufts of golden hair escaping from his beanie is tiny Patrick. Lips curled upwards, his smile is a perfect copy of the grin that spills from her eyes.
2 comments:
I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall in this entry. And it didn't. And I was so, so very glad.
Kate only has one shoe.
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