A Week with Audrey

Let me say this at the outset: I am no baby person. I have friends (forgive me, all of you) who melt at the very sight of an infant, who adored every moment of their children's babyhood, who cried when their little ones boarded the kindergarten bus. Not I.

My children were (and still are) wonderfully beautiful and intelligent, but I loved them most when they finally learned to speak. Perhaps it is my basic insecurity. I get panicky when I don't know what I'm doing--and babies are (and always have been) the ultimate unknown country. How do you KNOW what's wrong when they can't tell you, when their only switch seems to be OFF or ON, smiling or crying? I need more sophisticated controls, more fine-tuning.

We have spent this week in San Diego in the company of our daughter and 4-month-old granddaughter. Young Audrey is a marvel. If one ever wondered how our species survives, all it takes is one look at her in the morning when she wakes. One wriggle, one baby kick and squirm, one sunshiney smile, and we are toast. Anything she wants or needs is hers, whether it be room service at 3 AM or an extended walk in the garden to distract her from whatever is causing her to whimper...she can trample all over our sleep patterns and restaurant ways and recreational reading habits, and we barely notice. She smiles at us as if we are what she prizes most in this world--and that is reward enough.

Don't get me wrong. I suspect that if I were to be the primary caregiver for an infant, I would probably fail utterly. My daughter (and son-in-law) do an admirable job, with remarkable good humor. I can do a pretty fair back-up routine, and haven't forgotten the basics of diaper-changing, baby-holding and transfer, and the intricacies of car seats and porta-cribs. But I am still not a baby person.

I may, however, be an Audrey person, and I hope that Audrey turns out to be a Grandma kind of little girl.