Welcome Home, Freya Arabella

It’s official: I am a grandparent! Last Tuesday, my son (and Boone County Journal reporter) Alex and his girlfriend Sarah welcomed a beautiful baby girl named Freya Arabella Naughton into the world. She is, of course, the most beautiful child to have ever been born in the history of children being born. (I am an opinion columnist, not a reporter like my son, therefore I am allowed to make such proclamations.)

Another proclamation: A pandemic is a hell of a time to have a baby.

Working as a substitute teacher at a primary school, I accept that I am at risk of being exposed to any number of pathogens, including the coronavirus. In order to keep myself, my students, my co-workers, and my family safe, I only remove my mask at school for a few minutes when I eat lunch, I wash my hands more than a surgeon, and I use hand sanitizer so often that it peels the flesh from my hands. When I get home after school, I immediately change clothes and wash my hands, arms, and face thoroughly. I do everything I can to be safe.

Before going to the hospital to meet Freya for the first time, I took the additional precaution of taking a shower after school to make sure I was as germ-free as possible. At the hospital, I sanitized my hands when I got out of my car, when I walked intothe lobby, and again when I stepped into the room where Sarah and Freya were peacefully dozing.

Even though I was wearing a clean mask and clean clothes and had doused myself with enough alcohol-based sanitizer to cause me to fail a breathalyzer test, I decided not to hold my first grandbaby just yet. Although it took an amazing amount of effort to resist the urge to pick up precious Freya, I knew I would never be able to forgive myself if I would have unknowingly infected her with coronavirus.

I settled for gazing lovingly at my granddaughter as she slept. After another squirt of hand sanitizer, I did eventually place my hand on her tiny chest and felt her peacefully breathe in and out, in and out. This touch caused her to stir and briefly cry. It was a sound and a moment I will never forget for as long as I live. Freya’s cry was almost musical. The only sound I have ever heard that compares to the beauty of her newborn cry is the sound of her father’s.

While Bethany was giving birth to Alex, I saw panic on the face of a nurse as the doctor told us that our baby’s vitals were dropping. Ten-pound Alex was stuck, and they had to get him out immediately. There were two sounds that followed, neither of which will I ever forget. The first was the sound of Bethany’s tortured screams. I won’t describe what caused them. Thesecond, after a few moments of torturous waiting, was the sound of our son’s first cry. That sound made my knees buckle. Then it was my turn to cry.

Alex and Sarah brought baby Freya to our house to visit on Thursday, and everyone took turns holding her. Everyone except me. I was too worried about bringing something home from the kindergarten classroom I was teaching in that day. I took pictures while everyone else had their turn with the newest member of the family.

By Sunday, I decided that because I had been taking every precaution possible, I would hold my grandbaby the next chance I got. That night, Freya and her parents surprised us by deciding to pop in and stay with us for a few days. I finally got my chance to hold my little angel. She was definitely worth the wait.

Freya was wide awake as she lay in my arms, her beautiful eyes open and alert. We made eye contact, and even though I was wearing a mask, I’m pretty sure she could tell how happy her Pop was to be holding her. Then she promptly filled her diaper, and I gladly handed her back to her father.

 

I guess what they say is true; being a grandparent really is the best—even during a pandemic. Welcome home, Freya Arabella. Pop loves you.