Grandmother's Lament

It's a muggy August evening and we're just finishing dinner at a rented beach house. Our group consists of my husband and myself, my son and his wife — and the object of everyone's breathless attention, a three-week-old baby girl. Their first child, our first grandchild. We're all as lovesick and swoony as a pack of teenage girls.
Our primary activity during the week away could be called pass the baby. Except for a few hours at night when, miraculously, everyone in the house is asleep at the same time, she is constantly cradled.
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