It’s 2012 and in Mexico is my family, our origin, the baby. My baby cousin was cherished because (it is more) family (to have, and more attention to one person, or baby in this case). In the arms of her grandma, who might not show that she is happy but she’s a woman of few facial expressions but a lovely person to have around.  

My grandmother passed this connection on to her kids and there it goes on, passing on to future generations of kids. My cousin, in the arms of a great and caring grandmother. My grandmother, who is unaware of her brothers just outside of the frame. Her brothers, who are playful brothers and cousins, keep them company.  

My grandfather, who is tired, works in the fields. He just does not want the family stride to stop working, even when my cousin and aunt were finally able to leave the hospital and come back to their home in Mexico. Everyone was waiting for them to come back home after a safe pregnancy. My grandparents always said having kids is a good and wonderous thing to keep the family line going, but my aunt remembers that painful process was so horrible, since she had two other babies. She wanted to live for those life moments of her newborn when all the family can gather around, even with part of her family are not in Mexico,  

like my parents  

and me. 

Even though we were not there  

we saw my cousin 

through the pictures.