Have a baby and you can't help but think of her place in the chain of being. At least I can't help but think it. (Ok let's face it--I've been thinking about deep stuff since I was a child myself. I was a highly sensitive child, or as my mom puts it, a "delicate flower.")

And I think my Uncle Jack would have loved to meet Lily, born 11.24. Unfortunately, he made his exit a bit before she made her entrance with a lusty cry and two wide open eyes blinking in the lights of the OR.

Jack was a baby magnet. Among his gifts, he had a natural ease with children that few possess. He held babies like some pro football players hold footballs. Like Serena Williams holds a tennis raquet. Like Pele with a soccer ball. Natural. Graceful.

For most of his adult life he was a big guy, so inevitably at any family function of our very fecund family (it's the Irish on my mom's side) you'd find Uncle Jack with one or two infants draped on the vast expanse of his chest. Inevitably both draper and draped looked content.

Miss you.