Everybody knows that old saying: it takes a village to raise a child.  When Peanut was born, I found out just how true that proverb really is.  Certainly there are parents out there who go it alone, and my hat is off to them for everything that they do on a daily basis.  We’ve been lucky, though, in that we’ve had much more help than most.  Peanut, and now Nugget, are blessed with a village made up of pretty wonderful people – from the neonatologists and NICU nurses who cared for Peanut during her first rocky weeks of life to the sweet and dedicated teachers in her nursery classroom today, she’s had the good fortune to encounter many caring adults who have helped our family every day.  And then there are the aunts – Auntie Em and Aunt Grace, both of whom have spent several months nannying for us – and what a relief it was to us to go to work knowing that Peanut was home with an aunt who loved her.  And then there are the grandparents – Peanut and Nugget are the luckiest kids ever, because they got the best set.  But more than anyone else, my village is this lady:

Nana is my village.  She has given up months of her life to watch Peanut while I went to work.  She has sent me pictures during the day, so I could get my baby fix.  She has diagnosed fevers, hand-fed Peanut more pancakes than I can count, and dropped everything to drive across the state when the whole family came down with a nasty stomach bug (which she then caught too, worst thank-you gift ever, sorry Nana) or to be extra support in the weeks after Nugget’s arrival when I was overwhelmed and hubby was working constantly.

Peanut and Nugget both adore her.  She was the lucky recipient of one of Nugget’s earliest smiles, and she’s better at getting grins and giggles out of Peanut than almost anyone else.  When Nana turns up for a visit and happens to arrive during naptime… well, you should hear Peanut’s shrieks when she wakes up and finds one of her favorite people in the house.  It’s like the Beatles are playing Shea Stadium all over again.

Nana plays play-doh indefatigably, makes tooth-brushing themed collages, teaches baby animal names and colors and letters and numbers and everything else under the sun, picks up after all of us, and makes sure I remember to eat even when I’m sleep-deprived and have a newborn clinging to me at all hours of the day.  She spectates races, arranges flowers, accepts furniture deliveries, makes tea, stays up late or wakes up early so I can get extra rest, sleep-trains toddlers, and listens to me vent anytime I’m having a bad day.  She’s the first person I call when I’m sick or overwhelmed or just need an extra pair of hands, and even though she lives five hours away she’s been here instantly every time (how does she do that?).  I don’t know how we would parent without her.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.  Thanks for everything you do for us.