Waiting for Hannah

Hannah was on the horizon, due within a few months. I wrote this about Elisabeth's baby-ness as she was getting ready to be a mom.

Elisabeth Susan Potts. Baby. September 1973.

I remember…

Dark Indian-baby hair

  soft and silky upon your tiny head

The smooth warmth of your

  miniature self, snuggled against my neck

Fragrant new skin, impossibly

  small fingers and toes

  pink, sweet, and delicate

The frantic sounds of

  your instinctive quest for nourishment, greedy and eager.

  (Did you think I wouldn’t feed you?)

Unfocused eyes moving in wonder toward movement 

  and light—

  crossing and uncrossing

I remember…

  wakeful worry your first few nights at home,

  holding my own breath while listening for yours

  climbing out of a warm sleep into the cold

     3 a.m. darkness to change little diapers,

     to feed you, rock you, love you

   small movements, tiny sounds,

     baby girl.                                                                           4/07

Larry wrote this piece at the same time.

 

I introduced you to Winnie when you were a little baby…and you introduced me to Pooh.

I introduced you to Charlie and Annie when you were a little girl … and you introduced me to you as a helpful and loving big sister.

I introduced you to reading and ideas and science fair …and eventually you introduced me to your friends in Phi Beta Kappa.

I introduced you to the possibilities of medical school and residency and the pursuit of a difficult professional career … and you introduced me

to your new friend, colleague, and eventual husband, Evan.

Soon you and Evan will introduce your mom and me

to your new baby and we will be grandparents,

happy and proud.

I loved you before Pooh, and always will,

Daddy

Brothers

In the fall of 2011 I wrote this...

I have completely stopped trying to write anything since I’ve been done teaching at Gustavus. Not that what I wrote was special or wonderful, but at least I worked at it , hoping to put into words the things I feel about family, especially. Maybe ADHD is the reason, or lack of commitment, or no energy, or insecurity, or lack of will.

I started this poem for two voices that same day, but didn't finish it. I forgot about it and I didn’t find again until April of 2014, just before Ethan and Owen turned 5! I decided to finish it, then took it along to Perkins, when Gpappy and I joined the boys and their mommy and daddy for E and O's birthday dinner.

-----------------------------------

Ethan		Owen
	Twins by birth
Older brother		Younger brother
Brown eyes		Blue eyes
Books, books, books		Baseball, football
Tiny books		Tiny football
	Love mommy and daddy
Sounds Italian, sounds Norwegian		Loves to be loud
stealthy		obvious
	Loving, sweet, ‘nuggly
Fine motor skills		Gross motor skills
Creative in using objects for play (“lily pads”)		Persistent in learning how to cut with scissors
Quiet and watchful		Sings, sings, sings
	Brothers

Fall 2011

My life flashing by

This is a poem that makes my stomach ache. It twists my soul into an impossible knot of pain. Annie had surgery three years ago around this time (June of 2011). Westy was a baby, Miles was Westy’s current age. We were all numb, not knowing how it would turn out. She’s healthy, happy, and safe now, but it was hell. I feel sick to my stomach typing this introduction, it’s that fresh still, after three years.

                          -----------------------------

My life flashing by, but not really, after Annie’s surgery

I’ve heard stories and so have you of how

A person’s life flashes in front of her eyes as she

Lays dying, inhaling and exhaling slowly… goodbye.

I don’t know if I believe it, although it could be true

But not in those last breaths. Rather, now, in this minute,

Parts of my life go by, floating like bubbles that burst suddenly into nothingness.

I make myself look back, look ahead, then from side to side to

Keep from rolling into a ball of pain and sadness

Then: A little girl, rosebud lips, pink cheeks, sleepy and warm tucked in her bed, under the thick cabbage-rose quilt. In the sunny garden of her room, she is beautiful, peaceful, innocent.

Now: The same little girl all grown, same lips and cheeks, sleep forced upon her, tucked in a bed in the middle of the afternoon, wearing a hospital gown. Surrounded by digital read-outs and connected to IV’s and drainage tubes, she is beautiful, peaceful, innocent.

6/19/11; Rev. 9/11/11 and 11/14/11; 6/2/14

PS  A few days after I put this poem on the blog, Annie told me that Weston was exploring her face with his little hands and asked her why the spot where she had surgery felt the way it did. She explained that she had a bump there, and the doctor removed it. he asked where the bump came from. She explained that grew there. Westy suggested maybe she'd bumped it, and Annie patiently explained again that it had grown there.  Westy was trying to make sense of it, how it got there, and he decided in the end that they could just say that she bumped herself. It obviously made the most sense to him, since that's how he "grows" bumps.

For Miles, kindergarten graduate

Miles is graduating from Kindergarten in two days. He somehow went from zero to 6.5 in the blink of an eye. I wrote this when he was 8 months old, when he was such a baby. Now he's such a big kid!

Dear Miles,

I borrowed one of your daddy’s best comments, “Miles, you’re such a baby!” as inspiration for this little poem about you, just as Alison McGhee used William Carlos Williams’ poem “The Red Wheelbarrow” to write Little Boy. Alison McGhee is one of my favorite authors, and Peter Reynolds is an illustrator who knows how to draw little boys! I love the book, and I love you more! 

                             XXXOOO

                            Gramma Jill        7/08

Miles, you’re such a baby!

You depend on

  a dooza decorated with a baby blue zebra,

  a froggy swimming pool for splashing,

  a farm with singing animals, and

  a caterpillar named Gus.

Miles, you’re such a baby!

You depend on

  squealing and shrieking your joys and annoyances,

  yelling “MA MA” when you’re mad, and

  babbling peacefully to your mobile and the crib bumper when you’re not.

You are such a baby, Miles!

You depend on

  learning to wave bye-bye from Grandpa Dave,

  playing games with Grandma Doreen,

  grabbing Grandpappy’s scratchy face until you both break out in smiles,

  bouncing on Grandma Jill’s lap, and

  keeping your eye on Cousin Hannah for the next baby milestone to attempt.

You’re such a baby, Miles!

You depend on

  soy formula and mom-made baby food,

  bath time for splashing and smelling sweet,

  the joy of clapping, clapping, clapping, and

  a myriad of fascinating facial expressions.

Miles, you are such a baby!

You depend on your mommy and daddy to

 return your smile every morning,

 read to you,

 toss you in the air,

 take you out for walks,

 change your diaper,

 tickle your tummy,

 kiss you and comfort you,

 tuck you in every night, and

 wish you sweet dreams and say, “I love you.”

      

 Yes, little Miles, you are such a baby!