No words can describe it.
Not the first time I made a challahBraided egg bread eaten on Shabbat and holidays. Reminiscent of bread eaten by Priests in the Temple, of manna in the desert, and sustenance in general. Plural: Hallot.
Or the first time I rode my bicycle.
Even the first time I got my period.
No words can describe it.
The first time I burnt my newly purchased Creuset pan.
The first time I forgot to replace the batteries in my remote
and could not figure out why the television did not switch on.
The first time I slipped on the bathroom floor
and was happy to be fat and not break any bones.
No words can describe it.
On a winter-warm almost-spring evening on my balcony
waiting patiently for seeds to pop into vibrant colored flowers.
No words can describe it.
Hearing from my daughter of her first successful pregnancy.
The days hours weeks, and months
unraveling the life developing
from one seed and one egg popping in my daughter.
No words can describe it.
The haunting shadows of worried nights
and breathless days slipping
through memories of miscarriages and depression.
Time and time again.
Hoping that this time
everything would progress well.
No words can describe it.
That last day of waiting for the call.
That call Baruch Hashem'Blessed is the Name [of God]." Often abbreviated as B''H. Examples of usage: ''My child is well, B''H;'' even as a stand-alone response to, ''How are you?'' B''H! finally broke the silence.
She has arrived safe and sound, my granddaughter.
No words can describe it.
The first time I held her on my chest.
The sweet smell of her hair merging with my perfume.
The first time I felt her whimper in my arms.
The first time I knew she was here to stay.
The first time I saw my daughter take her to her breast
and how they both sighed a breath of relief
Upon completion.
No words can describe it.
One Shehekhiyanu later
I became a grandmother
for the first time.
