A new guy

By the time you read this I will have met the new guy in our lives.

We love him already. Of course we do! How could we not? We’ve celebrated every remarkable, incredible ultrasound picture that we’ve been shown, watching him grow, figuring out who he resembles. In my own gestational days, in the seemingly prehistoric 1960s, those in-utero shots were something not to be even conjured (sort of like Facetime or all the contemporary technical stuff that we now cannot live without). Nowadays, it’s expected and thrilling to watch the baby grow before he finally lands in our waiting arms.

This fellow arrived early and weighed in at 6 pounds 4 ounces. So far he’s a mellow guy but my own theory, based on lots of experience, is that they are all mellow in the days right after arrival. They want us to keep them and won’t show their true feelings until they arrive home. It’s sort of a baby conspiracy. Behave yourself now and let it all hang out after you’ve checked your new headquarters.

Naturally I’ve got lots of history dealing with those new baby residents, and early in my mothering career I serendipitously discovered the roar of the vacuum cleaner. It’s a powerful lullaby. Try it when the new babe won’t stop screeching at you, already seeming to accuse you of being a terrible mother, or father, and just doing everything wrong. A few minutes of vacuuming, and silence will again prevail. Naturally those accusations may surface again when the kid becomes a teenager but then the vacuum cleaner will no longer work its magic.

This young man, whose name I do not yet know, will soon endure a big day in our family’s life, his brit milah. The mohel will be the same loving individual who had the zichut to circumcise the baby’s father, his uncles, cousins, and thousands of other young Jewish males. He is the grandfather to this little boy, and once again he will greet the moment with profuse emotion, incredible love, and tears of joy.

The newcomer is our 10th great-grandchild. How we got here is definitely another story. It seems to have happened very fast. One moment we were a young couple, a girl from Newark’s Weequahic and a boy from Crown Heights in Brooklyn. I was a mere 20 when we married, still a college student. He was 22, not old enough either, but somehow we seem to have made it work and are totally in awe of our progeny. Every single one of them brings us immense pride, even though we were clueless when we started, and according to today’s standards, probably still are.

You are all my friends, those with whom I regularly share my life and my opinions. Sometimes you may disagree with me, but you should always understand that when I am contrary, when I protest the actions of some of our government’s officials, it’s because of times like these, when I am welcoming a new addition to our family. I’m old, and it matters little to me personally whether we have tariffs or vaccinations or even whether our president lacks vision and idealism. Statistically, at age 86, I’m almost done here and will join our ancestors without making a substantial difference in your life. So why do I bother?

It is all because of this baby and those who share his life and times. This as yet unnamed person, this boy who brings me hope for a brilliant future for all, whose life is filled with promise and eagerness to get started in shaping a far better world than my own generation has done, this sweet little baby who may possibly, hopefully, be the one to remove evil, to make Earth a better place, to eradicate war and hatred and violence and animosity and poverty, is worthy of a fervent Shehechayanu. This shall be recited at his brit and at all the myriad beautiful occasions of his life. May he be blessed and may he bring blessings. Welcome, welcome, little guy. We love you so much! We rejoice in your arrival!

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of 10. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com

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