The First One

The baby came on a Tuesday.

Word got to me through Patricia, who got it from her sister-in-law, who works the night shift at the hospital. She said the girl (Renée, you know Renée, lives in the yellow house on Lacombe with her mama) she had a little girl. Six pounds even. Eyes wide open from the jump, Patricia said. Already looking at folks like she’s trying to figure them out.

I been knitting that blanket for two months. Soft cream, soft yellow. Some white. I didn’t know who it was for yet. I just knew somebody was coming. The Lord lets me know when somebody’s coming. He don’t tell me who, he just tells me to start.

So I finished it Saturday night with the record on. Take My Hand, Precious Lord. Mahalia. That song stays in my chest a particular way. Always did. I tied the corners off, folded it twice, put it in the good basket.

This morning I walked it over.

Renée came to the door holding the baby like she was still trying to believe she belonged to her. That look new mamas have: somebody gave me this, and now they expect me to keep her. I know that look. I had it three times, and Lord knows I gave it to my mama every time. She used to laugh at me. Delphine, sit down. She ain’t going nowhere. Eat something.

I gave Renée the blanket. She unfolded it slow.

“Mother Baptiste.”

That was all she said. She didn’t have to say more. I could see what she was trying not to do in front of me, so I let her not do it. I patted her hand, kissed the baby’s forehead, told her the smell was lavender (I rub a little oil into the fibers when I’m done, just a touch, makes the babies sleep) and I left her to her morning.

Walking back, I thought about all the blankets. Forty years of blankets. I lost count somewhere around the fifth grandchild on Avenue B. Some of those babies are grown now. Some of them have babies of their own. Some of them I buried. One of them, Lord, I’m still mad at. But I won’t say his name today. Not today.

Today was for the new one.

She’s got a name. Renée didn’t say it yet because she’s still trying it out in her own mouth, and that’s right. You don’t give a baby’s name away on the first day. You hold it a while. Let it set.

I’ll hear it next Sunday.

I always do.