We just returned from a weekend trip to Yakima, Washington. The five of us plus my parents piled into our van and drove the six hour trip, give or take with stops for avoiding car sickness and cleaning up car sickness (poor Little Bear). It was the only summer trip I wanted to take this year. I don't care for traveling with babies, it is too exhausting.
However, this baby was so perfect. He was such a great traveler all the way there and the whole next day. We sat around and visited and he smiled and made the rest of us smile. "He's such a good baby," people would comment. I would agree knowing, after three, that could all change in a second. But, for those few important days, he was perfect. In fact, all my children were.
I'm not using the word "perfect" thoughtlessly. I'm not even using it to brag. I'm using it as humbly as I can because it was such a gift to all of us, but especially to my grandma. She has Alzheimer's and I was not really sure she knew who I was. The only person she really seemed to know was my dad. I tried to draw her out a few times, but stumbled with all the wrong questions. She mostly sat quietly while we all visited and remembered things she could not. Yet, for that day, she seemed so happy to watch my children. Especially my "perfect" baby. He sat on her lap and she enjoyed every second with him.
What a gift of time. What a gift of a day. What a gift of life, both young and old.