Nothing lights up a family like a baby
By Doni Greenberg

I only have one photo on my refrigerator: May Violet, my twin’s baby granddaughter. May was about 4 months old then. She was dressed in a Santa hat.

C – U- T- E!

As the first grandbaby born to any of my children or my sisters’ children, May holds a special place in our family where any one of us would walk on coals for this baby.

May truly is the most adorable baby I’ve seen in about 23 years, which was when my youngest son, Joe, was born.

Speaking of Joe, he says that when I look at babies I get such a wild-eyed, crazed look that it appears I want to eat the baby. That’s ludicrous. What does he know?

Anyway, back to May Violet. She’s 7 months now; that fun stage when she can interact, vocalize, reach for things and make eye contact,. 

I’ve spent more time than I care to admit playing peek-a-boo with May. From behind napkins, chairs and hands.  From behind doorways and couches. So much laughter. Giggles galore.

And sometimes I get a reaction from May, too.

I don’t have grandchildren, but since Shelly and I are identical twins, May often reacts as Shelly’s children and my children did when they were small; confused by the sight and sound of identical mothers. May whips her head around when Shelly’s holding May and I walk in the room, and/or vice versa.  

May’s purely understandable confusion often reminds Shelly and me about stories from our kids’ childhoods that invariably gross out our kids, such as how, since Josh and Brooke were born just a few days apart, Shelly and I sometimes acted as wet nurses for each other’s babies. 

I don’t know why that bothers Josh and Brooke. You’d think they’d be grateful someone fed them at all.

Oh, that reminds me of something else. If Shelly is May’s grandmother, then what am I (rather, who am I) to May? Grandaunt? Works for me.  

Shelly and I have already hatched plans for when May is older, times when her grandmother and grandaunt can take her to the park, or the river trail, or shopping. Out of the long arm of Brooke and Justin, May’s parents.

Shelly, an artist, will teach May how to paint and draw and do incredible creative projects. I will teach May how to cook, which justifies the little wicker basket with the violet-pattened porcelain tea set I bought and put away for May when she’s a bit older.

Like next month.   

I can hardly remember family functions before May. Everyone watches even May’s most subtle moves and expressions. She’s held and carted around so much that it’s a miracle she’s learning to crawl at all.  

If May waves one tiny arm as someone’s arriving or leaving, we are all convinced that genius infant is waving goodbye. If she babbles the sound “ma ma” we’re sure she’s saying “mama” to her mother, my niece.

Interestingly enough, May calls Shelly “ba ba” – which everyone thought was pretty hilarious. Then my Czech daughter-in-law informed us “baba” means grandmother in Czech.

Is this baby smart, or what?

May reminds me a bit of my first baby, Sarah, and the time Shelly and I flew to Canada to see our brother when Sarah was about May’s age. Shelly and I noticed the flight attendant handing out packets of crayons and coloring books to the other children and felt indignant when we had to actually ask for one for Sarah. We couldn’t understand why others couldn’t recognize Sarah’s obvious brilliance.

I don’t know what it is about watching a baby, but I could watch May for hours. 

Why is it we get such pleasure from watching a baby smile and laugh, when we don’t get that kind of pleasure from watching a random adult do those things?

I don’t know what it is, but I know May is so cute I could just eat her up.

Granted, that’s an unfortunate word choice.

Just don’t tell my son.