Hand Me Downs

September 28th, 2009

I flew to California on Thursday night, finally meeting my nephew: he is currently seven weeks old and weighs maybe ten pounds, although I can’t be sure. He likes to bounce and stretch and kick his legs. He doesn’t mind when the dogs lick him all over and he lets pretty much anyone hold him. He gets hot and sweaty really easily and enjoys looking at shadows on the ceiling.

When I was little, I was given a selection of Beatrix Potter story books and figurines. I knew that my brother has been rounding up some of our family’s favorite childhood books for my nephew, and my mother nudged me in the direction of a storage box, under the guest bed. The Beatrix Potter figurines were all wrapped up but I pulled out the little books. Some were inscribed with holiday messages in the careful caligraphy of my mother’s friend. Some had torn pages and yellowed scotch tape. Two had “HAPPY EASTER MOLLY! LOVE THE EASTER BUNNY, 1978″ written in my father’s printing inside the front cover.

I felt the tiniest of pangs when I saw the books; I had honestly forgotten about them but somewhere there is a part of me which catalogued those sentimental relics from childhood and sort of figured that they’d end up being passed along to my kids. I don’t think I’ll ever have kids of my own, and I’m pretty comfortable with that, but there is a weird phantom tickle which wonders, BUT WHAT ABOUT ALL THE WEE PINK THINGS AND TINY SHOES?

Which is neither here nor there, except that I understand why people pay so much money for baby clothes, toys, gear: IT IS ALL SO SMALL AND CUTE.

I gave the Beatrix Potter books to my nephew (or as my mother puts it, he is ‘borrowing’ them). He has been sleeping in a little wooden cradle that was built before I was born, and in which all of my siblings and I slept. My brother M. gave our nephew his copy of The Polar Express, and recorded a CD of him reading it aloud. Our family is currently trying to track down our original copies of Where the Wild Things Are, because the whole world done sold out of it.

It’s hard for me not to hope he grows up to be a bookworm (although a left-handed pitcher would also be cool).

I somehow managed to avoid any and all dirty diapers: when you eliminate that element, babies are pretty nice.

Entry Filed under: General