“One thing is for sure, their babies will have the biggest, bluest eyes,” more than one person commented when my daughter, Shannon, married her husband, Chris. Little did we know at the time that just over a year later, there is, indeed, a new baby in the house. I think she must have the biggest, bluest eyes on the planet.

My third grandchild, Lucy Maya, arrived on an early fall day, under the sign of Virgo. On the afternoon before her birth, her mother and I spent a pleasant extended lunchtime in downtown Brunswick, choosing homegrown tomatoes at the Farmers’ Market and enjoying an extravagant meal at a sidewalk café. When Shannon brought me back to work on that balmy afternoon, I patted her ripe belly and said, “I wonder if I’ll be seeing this again.”

“Of course, you will,” was her certain reply. “I don’t feel like anything is going to happen today.” A self-employed massage therapist, my daughter had put herself on maternity leave and was looking forward to spending the next several days leading up to her due date reading and resting. She borrowed several books from me and couldn’t wait to put her feet up and dig in.

But as it happened, only hours after Shannon returned home, little Lucy decided to make her determined, mystical journey toward our ready, open arms.

“Today’s the day!” the expectant father’s voice sang out when I answered the phone at 4:45 a.m. the following morning. Shannon, comfortable as she labored at home with her midwife, was requesting I come fetch her puppy, Franny, who was getting a bit barky. As I hopped around the kitchen, frantically pulling on sweat pants and socks, I realized one small detail – my vehicle was at D.R. Coffin’s Garage down the street, awaiting the arrival of an important part. In the excitement, I had somehow forgotten that. I called Chris back and within a few minutes, he delivered the anxious Franny to my doorstep himself.

After giving my grand-puppy some much-needed TLC, while meditating on the Woody Allen quote, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans,” there was nothing more for me to do but ready myself for a day’s work and wait for the call that would announce the arrival of our Lucy.

The hours passed as I busied myself as best as I could and tried not to worry. I left the office for lunch, then returned, looking at the clock too often. I left again to pick up my car later in the day, then arrived home to find the answering machine urgently blinking with a message from Chris. “We’re all fine. Come to the hospital and see your new grand-daughter.”

So much for the planned home birth. The little one was, as her mom described later, a “buns-down girl.” Unbeknownst to me, the afternoon had held a dramatic trip to the hospital, followed by a Caesarean delivery due to Lucy’s breech position.

Twenty minutes after I received the call, my son-in-law held his pink rosebud of a girl, tightly folded, wondrously petaled, out to me. I enfolded her in my arms for the first time. My own baby girl, Shannon, with her golden curls spilling across the pillow, clad in a rumpled hospital gown and devoid of any adornment whatsoever, had never looked quite so exquisite.

When I returned to work days later, I was pleased to find a congratulatory message on the white board in the hall. Lucy’s vital statistics were listed: weight, length, the moment of her birth. I’m not sure why our society is so fixated on these details. To me, all that matters is she is here, among us.

Karen Schneider is a freelance writer living in West Bath. Her e-mail: [email protected].