September 15, 1994
The baby sleeps in the other room
safe and warm in my big bed, peaceful.
She’ll wake up soon, fussing a little,
forgetting for a minute where she is.
I’ll pick her up, wrap her in her small blanket.
We’ll sit in the old rocking chair, she’ll wake up slowly.
She’ll be three years old the end of November.
My life changed, I’d been waiting for her.
[For Paris from Gramma Frances]