After a 38-year corporate career, I’m beginning again.  On a plane with Lorie to Paris to see our first grandchild, remembering being happily surprised last summer when Ali told us on our weekly Zoom call that she was pregnant.  We had known something was different, Sam sitting next to her.  He rarely participated in these calls.

We’ve only seen pictures so far.  Ali and Sam wanted us to wait six weeks before coming, minimizing contact with the outside world, giving them a chance to find their bearings.  We rent an Air BnB apartment near them, a 15 minute walk to their house.  My French is a relic of the past, now relearning it on Duolingo.  A game with a purpose.

Springtime in Paris, rainy and a chill in the air.  Ali meets us at the airport with Sam’s brother Joel driving his van, they’re neighbors.  It’s morning rush hour, the traffic at a crawl.  We arrive at the apartment, it’s on a major street that runs into the center of Montreuil.  “The Brooklyn of Paris.”  Apartment buildings give way to boulangeries, patisseries, cafes, the town square.  Ali helps get our bags out of the van, lugging them up to the fourth floor apartment, that’s four flights of stairs, worried that it’s too much for us.

And then we’re in their house, the remodeling effort almost complete, Sam and Matilda are center stage, sitting in front of us in the new rocking chair.  Ali asks, do you want to hold Matilda?  Lorie looks at me.  I say go ahead.  And there it is, Lorie and Matilda Lorie Leena Wrobel-Krasner.

After a while, I’m next.  Taking my seat, getting instructions on what to do.  Take her in your right arm, the towel is on that side.  Watch her neck, make sure her head doesn’t fall back.  Non, pas comme ca.  Comme ci, comme ca.  Comment?  Hey, I’ve done this before.

Matilda gets a little fussy.  Does she have gas?  Is she tired?  Does her diaper need to be changed?  Is she hungry?   Would you like to feed her?  Sure, I ask for permission to move her to my left arm.  Ali, Sam and Lorie position themselves within striking distance, poised for a rescue mission.

Permission granted, the towel is carefully positioned under my left arm.  Bottle ready.  Sighs of relief as Matilda drinks, then burps, then settles in.  Matilda’s head against my shoulder, left arm relaxing downward, right arm holding on to my shoulder, knees just below my chest.  Sam says her knees are up high, that’s a sign of anxiety.  I’m thinking, that’s a sign of your anxiety.

I’m a new father, Lorie and I are living in a second floor apartment in Kingston, NJ.  Ali is a little fussy, up several times in the night.  It’s my turn.  I go into the kitchen, warm the bottle in the microwave, go to her room, feed her, walk with her in the hallway and then settle into the rocking chair.  Holding her in my left arm, her head nestled on my shoulder, my right arm wrapped around her.  Humming “Send in the Clowns,” the melody soothing our bodies.

Muscle memory kicks in.  My right hand covers Matilda’s back, my left hand supports her, I lie back, smiling.  Quiet breathing, peaceful slumber.  Contentment.  Connecting in the way our bodies fit together.