I was in the middle of my bed rest and it was just days after my first shower. I sat on the hard wooden floor going through gift bags of tiny clothing. Goosebumps were covering my body even though it was a warm August day. Excitement ran through me.
I slowly pulled out each tiny item looking over everything. At my shower I quickly went through the gifts, never taking the time to look at each individual item. I pulled out cute summer shorts and tank tops. Almost a year away before my Belle would wear those. I tried to picture what she would look like in them. I cuddled the warm fuzzy pajamas that were so soft I was afraid to wash them. I imagined what it would be like to cuddle those pajamas with a warm newborn wearing them.
I carefully cut the tags off each little item. With each snip, the excitement grew. I obsessed with organizing everything. The bigger items carefully placed on the tiny pink hangers. I placed them in the closet by size. Lovingly organized waiting for Belle to come home and wear them. The clothes that she would wear right away I folded over and over again and finally placed them to side to be washed.
I looked over and saw the pink laundry basket that my mom had eagerly carried over to me just days before. The basket was overflowing with new clothing in pinks and purples. My favorite item laid on top a white onsie with pink writing, "Grandpa's Girl". I carefully folded the onsie and placed it on top of the pile anxiously awaiting when my little girl would wear it over to my father’s house. I started pulling the clothing out when I saw the small delicate items my mom had placed in the basket. The small handmade crocheted sweaters sat at the bottom of the basket. The small sweaters that were once mine.
I held the tiny yellow sweater that I had once worn. That my grandmother lovingly made, that my mother had lovingly put on me. What was my grandmother feeling when she made them? What was my mother feeling when she put them on me for the first time? What was my mother feeling when she pulled them out of the attic and washed them? What was she feeling when she placed them in that basket for her first granddaughter?
I sat there with baby clothing surrounding me. Would I be as wonderful as a mother as my own mother is? Will my daughter look at me and think of me as her best friend as I do my own mother? Would Belle and I have the relationship that I have with my mother? The one I always dreamed about having with my own daughter. Would I be anything like the mother my grandmother was? She was loving and caring, and the sweetest women I have ever known. Is she here now, looking over me and protecting my baby? My eyes began to overflow with tears missing her, wishing she was here to meet my daughter.
She will be here, she is here. She will watch over my little girl when she is born, and continue to watch over her while she grows. These tiny sweaters will tie four generations of love together.