Remembering Suzy

In the four weeks since Baby Girl has been home, I've thought constantly about my mom and remembered things I haven't thought about in years.  Because Baby Girl's adoption happened so quickly, I'm just now thinking how to decorate her room.  As I've done so, a poem came to my mind called "Song for a Fifth Child," by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton.  My mom had a cross-stitch of the last stanza featuring a woman rocking her baby up in our dining room.

"...cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,
For babies grow up, we've learned to our sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep."

Sweet, isn't it?  I can already understand the feelings that inspired my mom to put up this poem.  I take pride in keeping a tidy, comfortable home.  But I find myself not minding the things that are out of place as much.  Even as I look forward to each new day with Baby Girl, I'm jealous of every day that passes.  Babies don't keep.  My mom knew that.

Another reminder of my mom has been the Olympics.  My mom was sick in 1988 for both the summer and winter Olympics, but I distinctly remember sitting upstairs on the bed with her and watching different events and cheering on the Americans (my poor, displaced, American mother living in Canada.  Sigh.).  I've loved watching the events even more because of those memories of lying on the bed with my mom.

I've adored getting to make new memories of the Olympics by being at home with Baby Girl throughout the London games, too.  Granted, the memories have really been of staring at Baby Girl while I hear a low hum in the background.  I've stared at her delightfully expressive little face as she's eaten or started falling asleep or, really, done anything.  Whenever I put a bottle in her mouth, she grimaces in disgust and clicks her tongue a few times until it hits her that this is manna from baby heaven, and she partakes with vigor.  And when she's falling asleep, she goes from sleepy smiles and giggles to shudders and frowns and little panting sighs in the blink of her half-closed eyes.  It's hilarious, and I'm glued to her face.

In fact, I've missed out on significant events because of my enamor of Baby Girl.  22 came home several days ago laughing about the German diver, Stephen Feck, and his epic fail of a backward belly flop.  Straight 0s.  Knowing that it was all Olympics, all day for me, 22 naturally asked me what I thought.  Normally, this is the sort of thing that we'd get a lot of mileage out in our house.  "That dude seriously Fecked up," and such clever quips would certainly ensue.  But, I simply missed it.  I was lost in my daughter.

And I realize now that, despite her brood of children, my mom was once lost in me.

"Babies don't keep."