And the day came when she told me it was finally going to happen. Oh, this jewel, feather, daughter wants to share with me each edging difference, the days, the hours, of being pregnant with her first child. On the telephone, I hear the clothes she plans for the expanding bodies, the firm stance she takes against the use of any medicines - even herbal remedies which she had used before - and latest, oh wonders of this age (you reading this here on a computer), she sent me via email the first pictures, the ultrasound images. A tiny arm bent and raised upward, fingers curled, head slightly tucked, umbilical clearly there. And a dark spot where the heart beats. I can sit for hours staring at this picture on my computer screen, fingering it with a graphic program, delineating features and aspect, all inventions which help me hold her. (Everyone tells me I shouldn't say "her" yet, I could be disappointed. The same people told me I shouldn't count on my own daughter surviving a premature birth, but I knew she was fine. She's having a child herself now.)