to my cousin.

You were born on one of the coldest nights of the year with snow blanketing the ground. It was a Saturday night and we, the four cousins and our Papa (our Mama was in Geneva), went to Tatta and Popop’s house for supper. We went early and watched a movie, Downton Abbey, curled up on the couch under blankets. Then Tatta and Popop returned home from your house, where they’d been visiting your parents and your brother. Tatta told us that they’d almost taken him [your brother] home with them but that your mama hadn’t been ready yet. Over our supper of bulzoni, sausage and cheese, we talked about how the next day all the family would have lunch together, unless the baby came. We didn’t really think you would come that soon, except for Tatta, I could tell she knew your mama was almost there. We all hoped, of course, but we didn’t know.

Later that evening, my sister and I were coming home from our youth group. We were late and the temperature was well into the negatives by the time we opened the front door, -16 Celsius I think. Your uncle, our papa, greeted us with the words that your mama was in the hospital. We all went to bed that night hoping, hoping that in the morning we would have a new cousin. 

In the morning I got up and quietly taking my book, The Return of the King, because my sister was still asleep, went down to read on the couch. My papa came into the room and said, “It’s a boy!”

I was so excited, I got up and danced. 

That morning at church I kept thinking about you, another boy! We hadn’t known what you were going to be and so that was part of the surprise. In the evening we went to Tatta and Popop’s house again for supper from where we called your mama to wish her happy birthday and congratulate her on the new little being she’d brought into the world.

The next day, on Monday, we bundled up and drove to the hospital to see you. The maternity hallway was quiet, with big gray doors decorated with little chalkboard hearts lining both sides. We came to the door that had your name written on it and knocked softly.

Your mama came to the door and welcomed us in. We walked into the warm room and over by the window there was a hospital crib. And in the hospital crib, was you. You were perfect; your tiny ears, tiny fingers, little face. Tatta said you looked like your mama’s side of the family, but the rest of us were stubborn and said you had our forehead and mouth.

I held you by the window, with late afternoon February light streaming in. Your hands were tiny, but your fingers long, so were your toes. My little brother sat next to me, in awe of the new little person in the room. He asked me in a whisper if he could touch your ear, I smiled and said yes. He stretched out his hand and carefully, gently, touched the tip of your perfect ear with the tip of his finger.

You slept through our whole visit, even with eight people in the room. You’re a sleeper. 

We are all so excited for you, for your life. It’s little now but it’s growing and someday it will be big. A new life is so very, very special, and I can't wait to watch you grow.