Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Letter to Grayson at 3 Months-Old

Dear Grayson,

I should have written this letter to you on June 28th, but as your mommy spent her vacation lugging you around from hill to valley, and indulging in the tenderest steaks ever devoured and the smoothest scotch every to slide across ice-cubes (when aforementioned mommy was absolutely not driving, just so we have that clear ahead of time), this letter got delayed. But, I'm glad because something happened today which I wanted to make sure was recorded for posterity.

Today, your Grandpa and GramBee and I drove to Warsaw to visit Great-Grandpa Miller. We took him from his assisted living facility and drove him out to Chapman Lake, to the home which he loves and to the lake where both Mommy and Grandpa swam as children. We sat on the porch and looked at the water and I asked Great-Grandpa how many hours he'd spent just watching the lake and he smiled and told me he reckoned it was a whole lot. While Great-Grandpa napped, Grandpa and I walked you down to the swimming hole and dipped your tiny toes into the water in what Great-Grandpa named, appropriately, "The Miller Baptism." You screeched at first, because the water was cold on this 4th of July, but you quickly calmed and seemed hypnotized by the waves as they broke near the shore. I whispered in your ear the mysteries of this lake which has cradled me all these years, this lake which calms your great-grandpa now in his ninth decade. I promised you that I would teach you to swim in this swimming hole and that we would watch minnows and collect clam shells, and huddle near one another in towels on the pier.

You smile so much now. Your daddy and I call one of your smiles your "Dick Cheney" look, it's a half-smile where you don't seem to be entirely committed to the idea of smiling. The difference between you and our illustrious VP, however, is that your smile lacks all sense of guile.

Grammy wonders if you might be a in your hand-coordination (we are already convinced that your politics will lean that way, and if they don't, well...we'll let your big sisters apply appropriate pressure where need be). You seem to be favoring your left hand as you bat for objects and shake your rattle and rub your ears. We'll see what unfolds, as with so much in life.

This month you met your Mamaw Amy and your Texas kin for the first time. Grandpa and GramBee flew with us and you sat quietly in the baby carrier, resting near Grandpa's heart, your face nuzzled into his chest where he worried you were suffocating as you snuffled and snorted contentedly. You were an impressive traveler, even more impressive than Mommy who needs Xanax to be lured onto an airplane. 92-year-old Mamaw Amy remarked that she never thought she'd live to see the day that after four granddaughters she finally had her grandson. She had reason to wonder, as your oldest cousin is in her 40s and expecting her own child to arrive from China sometime soon. You cooed contentedly at your Mamaw and were ultra-fascinated with her glasses and sparkly eyes.

So many people love you. I am honored to be one of them--honored to be your mommy and can't wait to continue to watch you unfold, my sweet, sweet boy.


1 comment:

Cathy said...

beautiful picture and letter to your son!