This is a re-post (7/13/11) from a private blog I have dedicated to our granddaughter. That blog, which you won’t find unless you’re invited to, includes stories and lots of photos. If you’re a friend who has wondered what’s happened to me and why I don’t write here…contact me and I’ll link you to the other site. I AM working on a piece for this blog…but as you can see, life is full of other little duties now, which I’m not unhappy about!
I hate to say something which will imply I was miserable raising our sons…but I just don’t remember the endless enchantment of watching a baby grow and learn and explore and discover. I know I enjoyed our kids, and I wrote about them and took pictures and remember quite a lot. I just don’t remember the peaceful happy delight and lack of stress that I feel now.
Dennis said the same thing tonight–and it’s been echoed by many of our older friends: “Being a grandparent is so much more fun than being a parent!” For most grands, the cliché goes, “When you get sick of them you can send them home!” But in our case, that’s not true. Lucy IS home. So why are we so positively punchy with happiness?
Tonight we were tag-team holding, feeding, playing with Lucy. For a while she was in her exer-saucer. And she got really quiet. A glance in her direction confirmed our suspicions. She was very red in the face and seemed to be bearing down. Ah yes. “She hasn’t done that today,” I calmly observed. “We’d better give her a few more minutes.”
Eventually we processed up the stairs, Grandpa holding Lucy, who peeked over his shoulder at me and giggled. We were having this very conversation, in fact, about grandparenting. I started to undress Lucy, and realized we had a real five-star mess on our hands, as she’d been bouncing in this diaper for long enough to “share the wealth” all up her back. In the process of changing her, that wealth was also on the changing pad and the crib sheet. Oh joy. But we found ourselves laughing hysterically over the whole situation, like a couple of escapees from the loony bin. I bundled her dirty things into the tub, Dennis carried Lucy ceremoniously back downstairs in the buff (Lucy, not Dennis)–looking a little like Rafiki holding baby Simba aloft in The Lion King.
He “stood” her on the kitchen stool while I quickly cleared the counter and got her bathtub ready. And wouldn’t you know it? Just as everything was ready for her–”She’s just wet all over the stool,” Dennis observed. More insane laughter from the grandparents as we bathed our little girl. It’s definitely a two-person job now, since she’s just started sitting up and the nice reclining padded seat is too small for her–not that she’s willing to recline in anything now anyway! She seemed to enjoy her bath much more sitting up, too. Bundling her into a towel, I carried her back upstairs while Dennis emptied the tub. As I reached the landing I looked down and said in passing, “Oh look. One of the dogs threw up.” And yes, I laughed. (Aren’t you glad I didn’t illustrate this post?)
Are we just more mellow because we know that most of these everyday annoyances are no big deal? Are we calmer because we know we actually raised two boys to adulthood and they’re doing OK? Or are we on the way to senility, and our aging brains just don’t process stress the same way any more? Whatever the reason, I’m glad to be a “gramma” and I don’t think that’s going to change any time soon. Now I should really wash the spit-up off my shirt.