Grand News: “We’re Expecting!”
The announcement came at precisely the right time. While considering a move to the coastal city where my daughter and her husband lived, I received a heartwarming phone call. They were expecting a baby!
O, the joy of those words! Happy tears slipped down my cheeks.
Advised not to share the marvelous news, yet giddy with excitement, I found it difficult to keep quiet. Although realizing the challenges of moving from the city where I lived for forty years, knowing that my daughter was expecting clinched the decision to relocate.
A baby! That’s where I needed to be. I phoned a realtor and listed my house.
A few months passed, and all was well with Mother and Child. At the Gender Reveal Party, we celebrated the new life. The jubilant parents cut into the white, buttercream icing, revealing a carnation-pink cake. It’s a girl! We were thrilled, although a sweet baby boy would have been just as splendid.
When I received a picture from the first ultrasound, I carried the lovely, grainy, black-and-white photo in a protective folder tucked in my purse. Meeting my girlfriends for lunch, I held the picture close to my cheek and declared, “I think she looks like me!”
I set to work on a heart-themed baby quilt in shades of rosy pink and sage green, praying for my grandchild as I stitched. Later, as she grew, I delighted in watching her laying and playing on the quilt, now a treasured heirloom.
Friends surprised me with a Grandmother’s Shower, also called a “Sprinkle.” The guests brought gifts to be kept at my house for the baby’s visits. I received books, blankets, onesies, stuffed animals, toys, and a basket to store them in.
My son-in-law’s mother asked what name I’d chosen for the baby to call me. She requested “Nana” and “Papa,” respectfully asking if that was all right. It was. For generations, all of the grandmothers in my family were called “Grandma.” No other name for me seemed to fit. I wasn’t a Glamma, a Mimi, or Gigi.
Roused by an early morning phone call from my daughter, I knew in a flash this must be the Birth Day! Yes, labor had begun.
My house was under contract, and the buyers had scheduled one last walk-through. Should I cancel? I decided against it, believing I had plenty of time to get to the hospital. As my realtor and the couple strolled through the house, I trailed behind, my heart skipping with excitement.
With my suitcase packed and eager to begin the two-hour drive, I finally mentioned the impending birth. My visitors took the hint and left shortly. I hoisted my belongings into the car, relieved to be on the road.
Arriving in plenty of time, I greeted my daughter and her husband in the birthing suite with hugs, good wishes, and a prayer. They chose to go through the birth process privately, which, of course I respected. Anyway, I was much too wired to stay and certainly not the calming force my laboring daughter needed.
My daughter’s best friend soon joined me in the visitor’s room. I welcomed her company as we waited for news of the birth. Hours later, the nurse bustled in, announcing the baby’s arrival! Mother and Child were doing fine. The nurse would return when we were welcome to join the family.
We waited. We paced. And waited some more. We strolled the hall. Checked and rechecked our watches. What was taking so long? Didn’t they know how anxious we were to hold that baby? Should we barge in? Hovering near the doorway of their hospital room, we decided against intruding and traipsed back to the visitor’s lounge. Better to wait until we were invited.
At long last, the nurse motioned us in. My beloved daughter handed me her precious newborn. Overcome with emotion, tears welled up as I cradled my granddaughter close to my heart.
Swaddled in soft flannel and a knitted cap, she was perfect in every way, with deep blue eyes, a sweep of long lashes, a tuft of blonde, silken hair, and a tiny rosebud mouth. She had my mother’s nose, turned up ever so slightly. Wouldn’t Mom just love that? I couldn’t wait to tell her!
From the first day, my granddaughter had my heart. I considered it a privilege to share those first wonderful, rewarding, but exhausting weeks with my granddaughter. I couldn’t get enough of her. I adored the way she inched her little body up to snuggle close in my neck and how she circled her tiny fingers around mine.
What a joy it was to observe the parents take on their new roles. Sharing the cooking, housekeeping, and baby tending provided pleasure and purpose. I slipped easily into the role of Grandmother, ever mindful of offering an opinion only when asked.
Early on, we realized the challenge of calming a fussy infant. If one of us was unsuccessful in quieting the baby, we’d pass her to the next person, as we each had different pacifying techniques.
When it was my turn, I walked, rocked, or bounced the baby through the house, singing any song that came to mind. Holding her cheek to cheek or whispering in her tiny ear as she drifted off to sleep, I chorused “You Are My Sunshine,” “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah,” and “Shake It Off.”
Two years after settling near my family, we welcomed another bundle of sweetness – an adorable baby boy! I’ve embraced my new identity and treasure this extraordinary time with my grandchildren.