Nicholas

Sometimes I have company on my couch, and my favorite companion is my grandson, Nicholas, who sits beside me, sucking his thumb, all entangled with his "Puppy", a sort of stuffed animal security blanket. If Nicholas is wearing his Bob the Builder toolbelt, a little padding makes things more comfy. He hardly ever gets to watch tv, so sitting next to his Mama-aw and watching Noggin is a treat for him, but it's an even bigger treat for me, especially now that we're well past The Wiggles. We might discuss what we see, but we might just sit there quietly and enjoy the relaxation of it.

Nicholas is my third grandson, but the only one I've gotten to spend time with. My first one was placed for adoption, which was a right and courageous decision for his mother, my youngest daughter, to make. My second grandson died at twenty-nine days, and I will never, ever forget what it felt like to have his tiny lifeless body placed in my arms by his mother, my eldest daughter. I said to her then, "Nothing worse will ever happen to you," and I found out the truth of that when she herself died the next year. So sitting quietly and enjoying the precious gift of three-and-a-half-year-old Nicholas is indescribable pleasure for me. I had all but given up the possibility and then there was his perfect miracle birth to my forty-two-year-old second daughter and her husband of less than a year.

And he is funny, as most kids are. His view of the world is quirky. A couple of days ago, after taking a twenty-minute nap, he decided that he had rested enough. My daughter said to him, "Well, Nicholas, that nap wasn't long enough," to which he replied, "But I started it yesterday, so it's really very long." How do you argue with that? But then again, I don't have to argue with him or discipline him or do anything but sit beside him and love him while he sucks his thumb.