Posted November 21, 2012 by
The other night we had some friends over for dinner and after they left, the house felt cozy and warm. All the lamps were glowing and the rooms still smelled like pumpkin pie and toasted pecans. The four of us were happy and relaxed and just kind of saturated in the moment. All day Veronica had been singing the lyrics to a Bob Marley song, and every time her little voice carried those words through the house, Greg and I met eyes across the room and smiled. Before getting ready for bed she requested to hear the song one more time.
I can’t tell you how strange it is to birth a baby, to feed and diaper them for months and months until suddenly you look over and they’ve become a little person just like you, someone who gets songs stuck in their head and has to listen to them to feel sated.
Anyway, Juliette was asleep in the carrier on my chest and Greg put on Veronica’s requested song and, before I knew what was happening, we were all holding hands and dancing around in a circle, singing.
Rise up this mornin’, Smiled with the risin’ sun…
It was one of those moments that was so singularly perfect that I could hardly look Greg in the eye. Juliette’s little cheek was warm on my breastbone, Vera’s sweet little voice carried over the music, and my husband’s hand was strong in mine.
Don’t worry ’bout a thing, ‘Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
We broke our circle and made a chain, following each other around the coffee table, still singing. That’s when I thought about my parents. And in one quick burst, I knew that if they could see me, even just for a moment, that they’d know that everything turned out okay, that I’m happy. More than happy.