Baby duty

My brain is only working at one-third capacity this week since two-thirds of it is being taken up with my new responsibility: taking care of my six-month-old granddaughter while her parents move from the West Coast to the East Coast (they've got a job, found a place and are moving in as I write -- yeah for new adventures!).

One might think taking care of a baby is easy -- especially after one has done it four times in the past -- and very successfully, I might add. But it has been 22 years since my last foray into full-time mothering, and while I've found giving baths in the sink and getting that little spoon into that little mouth at just the right time has come back like riding a bike, I've also found that the associated worries and time limitations have come back as well.

Now my brain is focused on these questions: Is this a tired cry or a mad cry? If I pick her up will I spoil her or will I reassure her? Is she scratching her ear because she has an ear infection or because I inadvertently got a bit of water in it during bathtime? Should I let her sleep as soon as she rubs her eyes or should I get her on a schedule?

I've already called my neighbor the doctor once.

If I take a shower now will she wake up and start crying and I won't hear her? If she's finally asleep should I get everything done around the house that needs to be done or take a nap too?

I learned long ago to enjoy cold toast -- as long as you butter it before it gets cold, and to never, ever put milk on cereal. And I'm totally fine loading laundry with one hand while holding baby with another.

But I'm being reminded of a few more things I maybe forgot, or maybe missed the first generation around. And as I watch this new little miracle -- the baby of one who was once my baby -- it is a sweet to share in her discoveries.

Things I long ago stopped hearing -- like the rustle of leaves in the wind -- get her rapturous attention. Things I long ago stopped seeing -- like a car that rushes by -- are a fascination. Things I long ago stopped putting into my mouth -- like tablecloths and plastic storage lids... things I long ago stopped running through my fingers -- like the nap of a carpet -- are all new and interesting. Her new little eyes, ears and hands are an example to my old ones.

And when she puts a hand on each side of my face and nuzzles her forehead into mine, when she smiles at my smiles and tries to tell me something in her own little language, we make the greatest discovery of all.