Lorsque l'enfant parait

Six years ago to the day, a little bundle of joy came into my life and turned its on its head! Six years ago to the day I became a grandmother to Agastya. It is uncanny how you fall in love the moment you hold the tiny bundle and feel his warmth. Suddenly, a huge hole you did not even know existed in your heart gets filled to the brim and you realise that there was a part if you missing till that blessed moment. And the magic does not end there as each day after that moment is more wondrous than the previous and you wonder whether your heart is big enough for all the joy that comes your way. But you soon realise it is as I guess granny's hearts are bottomless pits, or at least grow with quantum leaps as long as they can beat.

It would take me reams and reams of paper to convey all that I have experienced in the last 2190 days. What I can say though is that I never could have imagined what a grandchild brings in your life. His little smile can lift the old biddy out of the deepest blues, his hugs add a spring to her walk and work magic on the aching knees that no pill could. Grannies are a little dotty I know, so please be indulgent.

I just hope God grants me enough days to see him a grow a little more.

There is a touching poem written by Victor Hugo and entitled Lorsque l'enfant parait ( when the child appears). I do not know why, I remembered it today.

The English title is Infantile Influence.

The child comes toddling in, and young and old

With smiling eyes its smiling eyes behold,

And artless, babyish joy;

A playful welcome greets it through the room,

The saddest brow unfolds its wrinkled gloom,

To greet the happy boy.

If June with flowers has spangled all the ground,

Or winter bleak the flickering hearth around

Draws close the circling seat;

The child still sheds a never-failing light;

We call; Mamma with mingled joy and fright

Watches its tottering feet.

Perhaps at eve as round the fire we draw,

We speak of heaven, or poetry, or law,

Or politics, or prayer;

The child comes in, 'tis now all smiles and play,

Farewell to grave discourse and poet's lay,

Philosophy and care.

When fancy wakes, but sense in heaviest sleep

Lies steeped, and like the sobs of them that weep

The dark stream sinks and swells,

The dawn, like Pharos gleaming o'er the sea,

Bursts forth, and sudden wakes the minstrelsy

Of birds and chiming bells;

Thou art my dawn; my soul is as the field,

Where sweetest flowers their balmy perfumes yield

When breathed upon by thee,

Of forest, where thy voice like zephyr plays,

And morn pours out its flood of golden rays,

When thy sweet smile I see.

Oh, sweetest eyes, like founts of liquid blue;

And little hands that evil never knew,

Pure as the new-formed snow;

Thy feet are still unstained by this world's mire,

Thy golden locks like aureole of fire

Circle thy cherub brow!

Dove of our ark, thine angel spirit flies

On azure wings forth from thy beaming eyes.

Though weak thine infant feet,

What strange amaze this new and strange world gives

To thy sweet virgin soul, that spotless lives

In virgin body sweet.

Oh, gentle face, radiant with happy smile,

And eager prattling tongue that knows no guile,

Quick changing tears and bliss;

Thy soul expands to catch this new world's light,

Thy mazed eyes to drink each wondrous sight,

Thy lips to taste the kiss.

Oh, God! bless me and mine, and these I love,

And e'en my foes that still triumphant prove

Victors by force or guile;

A flowerless summer may we never see,

Or nest of bird bereft, or hive of bee,

Or home of infant's smile.