And I can’t believe I got to spend two weekends in a row with a perfect little peanut named Margo.
I also got to spend time with one of the four woman honored by her name. That feels like a privilege too.
Margo owes her first name to all four of her great-grandmas — Marie, Marion, Margaret and Mary Jane. Even in these early days it’s clear she got a little bit of spunk from each of them.
We spent some time with the ageless Marion yesterday at a party for her equally ageless husband, Margo’s great-grandpa Jerry, and Margo’s grandma Debbie and her Grandpa Vince, all of whom celebrate birthdays in February. That party was the literal icing on the cake of my time with Margo.
She’s a whole week older now and seven times the fun. We sang, we danced, we burped, we boasted that we were SO BIG, we saluted our heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes and we agreed that we were two of the luckiest girls in the world to be part of a family that is growing in such amazing ways.
Time stands still when you hold a baby in your lap, and worries magically disappear. You just snuggle and, maybe, sing the family fight song a time or two.
That’s what we did anyway.
Maybe it seems extreme to drive 968 miles to hang out with a tiny baby for a few days, but I’d do it again next week if I could.
Meanwhile, I have a whole bunch of pictures, a lot of great memories and a sweatshirt that smells like baby I’m probably not going to wash for a good long time.