Baby looks a lot like grandma (08/07/06)

It's more than just a dress that is as sheer as morning mist accompanied by a slip the color of a pale blue summer sky. It is decorated with embroidery and ribbons as delicate as the babies who have worn it. We put it on six-month-old Emma, took her picture then put it back in the cedar chest to await the next generation. It rests safely underneath the doll I was never allowed to play with which itself is covered by lacy crochet pieces done by my grandmother many years ago.

After the pictures were developed I was struck by how much the photograph resembles one taken more than a half century before. The eyes and smiles were the same. We had the same amount of brown baby hair in exactly the same texture and style. Thankfully, Emma's ears don't stick straight out like mine did at that age. I intend to find the photo of my daughter wearing the same outfit and compare all three of us.

The dress is a symbol of triumph over adversity and also a thing of beauty. It was an extravagance in a time when extravagances were few and far between. It may be just a bit of cloth and lace purchased for very little money but it also illustrates how similar we are, one to another.

A friend has a long, white dress that belonged to a mother, grandmother and sister. Even though they are generations apart the babies in the pictures look exactly alike. I'm sure there are similar dresses in cedar chests across the world. Oh, wait. Do other countries save memories in ornate boxes made of cedar? It doesn't matter. Important things are ritually handed from one generation to another even without the cedar chests of our grandmothers.

The only thing that scares me about the pictures of baby Emma is that she could end up like me. I don't want her to have the "bad" parts of my personality. I want her to have the confidence of her mother, not the self-doubt of her grandmother. I want her to avoid the migraines and the tendency to be short and "cuddly" rather than tall and lean. I want her to be outgoing like her mother yet enjoy solitude like I do. As she is surrounded by dozens of cousins nearly every day I have to assume that she will be much more comfortable in groups than I will ever be. Just as my daughter is an idealized version of the person I always wanted to be, I want baby Emma to be happy and healthy and to enjoy life in every way.

For centuries people have been seeking eternal life. From religions that promise oodles of virgins after death, (which is a truly rotten fate for the virgins) to visions of heavenly angels and various elixirs of youth, we all seem to want to stay alive forever. And if we welcome death as an end unto itself then we are seen as aberrant and given antidepressants. We choose what to believe about the hereafter but babies are living proof that we live forever.

They carry our smiles and our values; our likes and dislikes. We may think that we are one of a kind until we are faced with a photograph of a grandchild that is a mirror image of a picture that sits on our mother's dresser and bears our own face. Even the dress is the same.

I think of the time when air travel was reserved for the very rich and now Emma has made her first trip at only six months of age. I remember when man first walked on the moon and wonder what firsts this precious child will experience. What travesties that we accept as normal will be eradicated in her lifetime? What luxuries will she take for granted? Which likes, dislikes and personality quirks will manifest themselves in her life? Will she like sardines in mustard sauce as much as I do? What parts of me will live on in her?

Perhaps the answer is none at all. Maybe the similarities will end with a simple picture of two babies in the same dress or maybe, someday, she will capture an image of her own granddaughter wearing a fragile dress and looking much like she did just a week ago.

Maybe it's just a dress, after all.[[In-content Ad]]