Eyes only for Lucy
/The Boston Herald
The pregnant one can't come home to us these days. She's not supposed to stray more than an hour from her home. The baby isn't due for a few weeks yet, but babies are unpredictable, her doctors tell her. So Adam - he already has his name - could come sooner. He could come later. And while she waits, we drive.
Last weekend her sister and I drove to New York with Lucy. It was Lucy's third trip to the Big Apple. Not bad for an 8-month-old. We came to fawn over the pregnant one, of course, to focus on her, to say, "How are you feeling?" and "You look great." We came to gawk at her belly and watch her do pirouettes. (Once a dancer, always a dancer.) And we urged her to enjoy these last few weeks of freedom - to sleep late and go to afternoon movies and relax as much as she can because it'll be at least 20 years before she'll be able to do any of these things again.
But having said all this, having given her five minutes of our undivided and sincere attention, we - and she, too - did what we always do. We turned our attention to Lucy.
Of course we did. "See how cute is she? Isn't she getting big? Listen to her say 'DaDa.' Want to hear her laugh?" What should she wear on a walk on a semi-cold day, we asked one another? Her pink bonnet or her white hat? Does she need a sweater or a coat? Is one blanket enough, or should we use two? "I'm the Mimi. I get to push her," I declared. "I'm the aunt. I know the streets. Plus, I need the practice," the pregnant one countered. "I'm the mother. I'm pushing."
It was a Sunday afternoon and the streets were crowded with babies in carriages. But we had eyes only for her. Her uncle met us on Broadway. He lives in the city, too. Now four of us were walking and fawning over one baby.
It's funny how a walk can become a stroll and a stroll a strut. People were strutting everywhere. I liked being part of this club again. I liked walking down the street with my three babies, all grown up now, and this new one. Earlier, we'd met for breakfast and all our eyes were on Lucy then, too, sitting in a booster chair for the first time. We took her picture. We take pictures of everything she does. Saturday night she sang for us. She was in her little plastic chair playing with her toys and we were watching her, because that's what we do. We watch and we cheer and we smile and we never get tired of this. It's like having our favorite soap opera on all day.
So we were watching and she was playing and then she was singing. "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah" the notes going up the scale. We clapped. We yelled, "Yeah!" We grinned at her. And she did it again. The pregnant one got her video camera. And the concert went on.
Sure, millions of babies discover their singing voices every day, but this was OUR baby and she was singing for us. This weekend I will go back to New York, but without Lucy. And the weekend after, I will return again, with a suitcase this time, and wait for Adam to be born.
I try to imagine Adam, but I can't, just as I couldn't imagine Lucy - what she would look like, who she would be. Imagination isn't big enough for this. It can conceive of universes and theories and concepts. But the possibility inherent in one small human life is too big for the human mind to conjure. What did we do before Lucy, we ask each other now? We dreamed about her.. We made plans. And we waited.
Which, when we're not gawking at Lucy, is exactly what we are doing now.