timelessness

I met my brand-new granddaughter, Ari, last evening, and by 11:00 p.m.,

we were quite cozy with each other.

I said, "Ari, how about we have some quiet time in your room in this nice rocker?"

And she agreed by finishing some of her mom's milk from a tiny bottle, grunting and settling herself into my arms.

Eleven o'clock.
Midnight.
One o'clock, then 1:30.
The time flew.

My cheek caresses her perfect and warm, fuzzy head. My thoughts zigzag over the memories: sleepless nights of feeding and comforting my own babies. My mother, gone for many years and who longed to be a grandmother ... familiar smells and warmth make this little one seem like one of my own ... but then I realize she is my son's daughter, Ari, and I, her grandmother.

Grandmother. Wasn't I just a first-grader ... packing for college ... or a new mother myself?

My mind settles on the wonder and timelessness of this moment.

My eyes are heavy, yes, but my heart is full of love and thankfulness and peace.