More on the kind of grandmother I don't want to be...

11. The kind that sends  $5 check for birthdays and Christmas from the time the baby is born til the time they graduate from college, never acknowledging inflation or changing tastes.
12. Alternatively, the kind that only sends practical gifts.
13. The kind that says, "Grandkids are great because I can send them home!"
14. The kind that thinks they know better because they're old.
15. The kind that can't remember what it was like to be energetic 24/7.

Making it my own

I ran into a friend of mine at the gym this morning, and she, too, is having a grandchild mid-February.We grandparents-to-be have created a kind of bond, sharing updates, stories and our thoughts and feelings about the whole grandchildren thing. For a time, there were seven of us expectant grandparents, but now we are six. One had a happy and healthy little girl just yesterday. Some of us are first timers, others are old hands. But the excitement seems just as true for those of us who've done this before as for us newbies. As I ponder this I am struck by the seasons of our lives. My friends and I  are all roughly within the same age bracket, give or take a few years, and we are reaching many of the same milestones at the same time. It seems we're ready to experience this new phase and make it our own, to leave some things behind and start some things new. Except baby boomers never do anything quietly or easily. We may have "grand" before our names, but we're not ready to let ourselves go gray, frumpy, lumpy or slack. We're getting advanced degrees, we're down-dogging our way to centeredness, we're still trying for that six pack and our hairdressers are the only ones who really know for sure. We're starting new careers and winding down old ones. We're finding love, and we think that's as it should be. We'll be active, engaged and amazing grandparents. We must.

So what do I do?

I've been wondering what kind of a grandmother I'll be, and that's a role that will take shape as I step into it, I'm sure. I'm more certain about what kind of a grandmother I don't want to be...the kind that:

1. ...won't sit on the floor and play.
2. ...won't keep an occasional and inconsequential secret from Mom and Dad, like stretching the bedtime hour a little or eating ice cream for dinner.
3. ...expects a child to act like an adult.
4. ...is too busy.
5. ...can't remember what it was like to laugh til milk came out of my nose.
6. ...can't think of just one more story.
7. ...believes manners must be upheld at all times.
8. ...hates to get wrinkled/dirty/mussed from a sloppy, wet  hug and kiss.
9. ...thinks kids can be spoiled.
10...doesn't know that parents are for discipline, grandparents are not.

...more to come.

Denial

I ran into a woman, about my age, who is also expecting her first grandchild. She is completely set back by the prospect of grandmotherhood and refuses to even think about what the child will call her. I think this is hilarious. Like me, it's obvious that she left her twenties a while ago, and if the smile lines don't give it away, the ages of her children certainly will. One can only get by with "I had my children young," for so long. Maybe she figures if the grandchild calls her by her first name people will think they're siblings or something? Or maybe if the word grandmother is never uttered within ten feet of her, it will magically turn back time? I, on the other hand, am embracing my crone-hood with excitement and grace and, of course, sunscreen.

Super saver

Sometimes I think I save way too many things, just because I am overly sentimental. Yesterday I took out the box marked, "Emily, 1977," so I could put it aside to show Em and Mark when they come to visit over the holidays. Inside was every card and letter we received congratulating us on her birth, as well as our wrist bands from the hospital and the little pink nameplate that was on her hospital basinet ("Baby Olson,") and one tiny baby shoe from the outfit we brought her home in. The rush of memories was well worth the storage of a few extra boxes of mementos, I've decided. It's not like I'm a hoarder or anything...

PS. This week the baby is the size of an heirloom tomato!!

Pick a pepper...

I subscribe to a website that emails me each week to tell me about the baby's development. It's so fascinating how much happens in the course of seven days and how quickly he/she is growing. From one week to the next, joints become moving parts, fingers and toes develop tiny little fingernails and toenails, the internal organs learn their jobs. I am fascinated and humbled by nature. But I find it interesting, and mildly funny, that the last bit of the email is always about weight and size--and it's always a food metaphor. A couple of weeks ago the baby was likened to a small avocado, then a turnip, now a ripened pepper. It's probably because there's a universal understanding about vegetables and fruits, thus making them the perfect international language of baby development. But when I picture my grandchild as produce, I have trouble imagining his or her perfect face without plug-in features like Mr. Potato Head. That's not right.

Women are weavers

One of the things I seek in my life is expansion--in people I love, in experiences, in knowledge, in personal growth and in spiritual understanding. I think that's true for many women: life is like a tapestry that we weave from the moment we are born, each thread connecting to another. When one is added, the whole is enhanced. When one is pulled, all are amiss. The prospect of being a grandmother is like being offered a perfect and colorful thread.

One at a time

When Em and Mark decided to get married a few years ago, I sent a small gift each month of their engagement to let them know that though I lived far away, my heart was with them. I sent things like personalized stationery, monogrammed towels (I embroidered them myself!) and champagne glasses for their wedding day toast. I've decided that I will do the same thing during this momentous time in their lives. I found a bonnet that my my husband's grandmother had made and embroidered, and I bought some cute onesies and a very fashionable maternity top, as well as a few other things like books and magazines. I wrapped them all up and intended to suggest they open one per month. But since I'm terrible at keeping surprises like this, I wanted Em and Mark to open them all while I was in town so I could see their faces. It reminds me of the reason I never start Christmas shopping early: when I buy something I am excited about, I don't have the self control to save it for the appropriate time. Perhaps I just think every day should be a celebration, so why wait?

Let's talk

Em and I had so many wonderful conversations during my recent visit, and I am thrilled that she will one day share such moments with her own child. But these talks are nothing new, since we started them before she even developed language. I remember Em at less than a year old: she'd make very deliberate eye contact, don a serious let's-get-down-to-it expression, then chatter on and on, testing her newfound voice, experimenting with sounds and inflections and even a few hand gestures (thanks to the Mediterranean side of the family). I witnessed the beginnings of her amazing humor when she'd babble a bit then giggle at her own baby jokes. Her voice would rise in the shape of a question, and she'd await a reply from me. We'd converse like this for hours, like two old friends over a prolonged afternoon tea. I understood her every burble, and she, I'm sure, mine. Still.

You wear it well

I saw Em and Mark in person for the first time since their announcement. Em, who is beautiful and statuesque, is wearing her early pregnancy so well. Her gently rounded tummy is showing subtle hints of what’s to come, and though I’ve never really believed in the radiance that pregnant women are said to have, I may have to reconsider. Her glow seems to come from somewhere deep within, and Mark, too, appears somehow different. Perhaps their happy emotions are bubbling up for all to enjoy. Whatever it is, it looks good on them.  

Laugh or cry

Em and Mark visited the midwife a couple of days ago and heard their baby's heartbeat for the very first time. Mark video- and audio-taped the whole event, and we were able to share in this very intimate moment. Em said that the pregnancy suddenly became very real for her when she heard the first quick thumps, and I couldn't help remembering when I first heard my own child's heartbeat. All these years later I am still astounded by the profundity of it all. The urgency of the unmistakable sound assures me that this precious work in progress has lots to do and no time to waste.