When my nephew and his wife introduced me to their newest offspring, I almost forgot how to breathe. By the time I had reclaimed the power of speech, all I could come up with was: “You made a perfect baby. I can’t even make an omelette!”
This baby is so stunningly innocent and sweet and soft, it’s hard to believe he’s human. He inhabits a unique constellation of cuteness altogether. I tumbled headlong into love with him. The landscape of my weary heart transformed measurelessly.
Is the love reciprocal? Could a 5-week-old, swaddled like a baby burrito, make his heart known? The answer is a thunderous, “Yes!!” Loathe to show his hand too soon, our newest family addition is cool as a cucumber – but I can tell. He doesn’t puke his heart out all at once. He decants his love in drips and drops, in coos and loving stares. And me? I clutch every crumb of love to my chest, like it’s the last sustenance on the planet.
Having missed the infant stage with my first grand-nephew and grand-niece, thanks to COVID, I have the chance to bond with this latest specimen, Baby Boy 3.0. Miraculously, there is no flaw in this newest edition: he tells us what he needs, exactly when he needs it. Hunger … he’s on it (open mouth, head searching from side to side). Dirty diaper … he’s on it (literally), crying like the devil just invaded his Pamper. Sleep … he’s on it (perfect, tiny eyelashes fluttering up and down, then down, down, down). It bears mentioning that his reactions, while seemingly ordinary, have an intoxicating quality. Given a love breathalyzer, I’d probably blow a 4.09%. I am, undeniably lovestruck.
I would never want to play favourites, so my other great-nephew and great-niece deserve their share of ink. They are 6 and 4, respectively. They are bright, funny, inquisitive, headstrong, active and loving. Did I mention active? I’ve learned that people who boast that they can singlehandedly take care of two kids and a newborn at once – by themselves – are big liars.
One night last week we were asked to babysit on short notice, while the parents, grandparents and aunt of said children attended to a family emergency. We quickly realized that a 77-year-old grand-uncle and a 70-year-old grand-aunt (which equals a total of four arthritic, but capable, hands) are not equipped to deal with three young kids. So, the aunt’s 34-year-old partner Mark stepped up and came to save the day. Whoever said it takes a village wasn’t lying. Did I mention it was dinnertime?
Multi-tasking at work was always easy for me. But retired life has proven to me that I can no longer juggle more than two things at once. And, if it involves defrosting breast milk, burping and changing diapers, I am lost. Enter Grand-uncle Harvey, who recently achieved the title of “Master Burper.” That’s where he draws the line though. Diaper changes are not in his job description, so he tells me. As for me, having once put a baby’s diaper on backwards, I feel less than confident in this arena, but you do what you have to do. At least the parents weren’t around to witness my fumbling. And the baby didn’t pee on me, so win-win.
Meanwhile, Mark was wrangling the other kids towards the bedroom since it was 9 o’clock. They had just gotten settled when I remembered that they needed to take their vitamins before bed. (I personally would have forgone this, but I had strict instructions from the dad to make sure they took them.) More rambunctiousness ensued, more bargaining took place, more stories were read and, finally, they were asleep.
Now it was the baby’s turn to assert his presence. Knowing what he wanted, we fed him, burped him and, wonder of wonders, changed his diaper for the second time! By 10 p.m., we were exhausted, and left the kids in the capable hands of King Mark. I’ll let you know when he recovers. This is what families do for love.
Speaking of love, my husband, Harvey, and I recently celebrated our 17th anniversary. It was a low-key affair featuring homemade Niçoise salad and some kind of fattening dessert, which apparently was unremarkable. The funny part was that we bought each other the exact same Happy Anniversary card – from different stores, at different times, but identical. Definition of simpatico. End of story. But not end of love story.
Now to food. Yes, this is a textbook non sequitur. Recently, I invited some girlfriends over for lunch. My only prerequisite was that whatever I made had to be easy – impressive, but easy. I made a fish main course and lots of vegetables, but I needed a fancy-shmancy appetizer. So, I did what any respectable (and lazy) cook would do, and I bought a large wheel of brie cheese, a jar of apricot jam and a bunch of cashews.
MELTED BRIE WITH APRICOT JAM AND CASHEWS
1 large wheel of brie
3/4 cup cashews (or candied pecans or pistachios), roughly chopped
1/2 – 3/4 cup apricot jam
Preheat oven to 350˚F. Put the brie on an oven-proof serving platter. Chop the nuts until the pieces are small, but not too small, and set aside. Put the jam in a bowl and microwave it until it’s softened but not liquified. Spread the hot jam over the top of the brie, then sprinkle with the chopped nuts. Bake for 10-15 minutes, until the brie is just starting to melt. Serve on crackers or small pieces of French bread.
If you have any left over, which is typically not the case, refrigerate it and re-microwave it the next day. It makes a decadent breakfast. So goes life. Eat and be happy.
Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.
