Happy Birthday Emery Kate

By the time I was 28 years old, I had given birth to four children, three boys and a one girl. Jennifer, the baby came eleven months after my youngest son, Jason. Daniel was three years older than Jason and Brian, the oldest was three years older than Daniel. I didn’t plan it that way. It just happened. Having babies just seemed to come natural to me. In truth had the last two not been C-sections, I would have loved to have kept on going, but we couldn’t afford the cost of the surgeries.

I think this is one reason why I love being close to my grandchildren. They are an extension of my children and I have the opportunity to have a “do over,” a chance to keep my maternal instincts shining in their lives. I might add here that giving birth to a child and adopting a child may not be the same physically but be assured they are emotionally. Our family has grown by two recently with the adoption of a brother and sister to a cousin’s daughter and husband. It was clear that the love this cousin has for her two new grandchildren is as deep as they love she has for the two born into the family. She should know firsthand as she was adopted as well.

Today, my youngest grandchild, Emery Kate, turns one year old. She is pulling herself up, mimicking her big sister Lexi, trying new “real” foods, and beginning to show signs of her own unique personality. Having spent the last year either sleeping or eating (not unlike her mother who was the best baby in the world), everyone is ready to see the real EK. Her big sister, Lexi, who has the gift of being able to see inside a person’s soul, has given us glimpses of her little sister. She can tell when EK is hurting before her parents and then can say why (ears, teeth, etc.). There is a bond these two sisters have and it is a joy to watch.

She is not talking or walking yet, however I was present when she started crawling and maybe when I’m in South Carolina this weekend to celebrate her birthday, I’ll see her take a step or two.

I was told that I started talking full sentences when I was nine months old, however, I did not walk until I was fifteen months old. I would stand in my baby bed and bounce and call to my Daddy saying, “JACK,” at the top of my lungs. And when they heard me stop screaming his name or the springs on the baby-bed stopped squeaking, they knew to come into the bedroom (which I shared with my parents) because inevitably I would bounce right out the bed, over the rail and onto the floor. It is hard for me to believe they allowed that to happen and that it is not just a story they made up. But I did enjoy hearing it. Not because I necessarily believed it, but because it was a memory they shared with me.

Now I share the memories I have of my grandchildren and when they grow up, they will know that I loved them and cared enough to write down their stories.

Happy Birthday Emery Kate Swing; Mimi loves you!