Work of Art Part 1

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Seeing you in your mother's arms was too much to bear.  Tears of joy streamed shamelessly from my eyes over my cheeks as I watched your tiny lips pouting, and your eyes opening slowly to take in your environment.

Your mom smiled happily, though she looked exhausted.  She wanted to know if I would hold you, to give her a few minutes to freshen up and I couldn't hide my delight.  I was going to bond with my first grandchild.  This was a sacred moment for me.  I watched your tiny feet and counted your tiny fingers, what a work of art, so tiny, though so perfect.  I was so grateful and so happy.

You were lying in my arms, so content, your eyes wandered around the room, your tiny lips pouting, like a rosebud while you were watching this new world around you.  I hugged your tiny body tenderly and looked into your dark blue eyes.  You made a soft gurgling noise and your tiny lips seem to form a smile.

The bathroom door opened suddenly and your mother's voice asked:   "Is Beth okay?" Slowly your tiny head turned into her direction and again you made a soft gurgling noise, followed by the hint of a smile.

I couldn't help crying: "Look, Sammy,  she recognized your voice.  She is so clever."

Amazed by the wonder of life and my precious first grandchild, I handed you back to your mother and watched the both of you falling asleep in contentment.


This is what my Grandma wrote about me, Beth, twenty-one years ago.  Why am I feeling so dishearted, I celebrated my twenty-first birthday last night with a few friends.  I had to beg my mom not to make it to extravagant, "just a few friends and yes, we will have champagne, but you know I'm not the wild-type.  I prefer good company above crowds." 

The truth is I can still not believe that my boyfriend, Gareth dropped me after three years together, for a girl he met just a week before.   What would you say about that Grandma?  Does that make me less adorable?

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