When my children were born (or hatched as I still tell my son) I was literally at the birth.
Sitting with my wife, I was able to watch when the contractions were coming and let her know when one was coming.
I thought I was helping the situation, with a watchful eye and early warning. You should also know when I am in a stressful situation, I tend to make a joke to break the tension. My wife was not appreciative of my contraction warning or light jokes. She announced, “No jokes” at the top of her lungs, adding an F word between “no” and “jokes.” And the F word was NOT funny.
At delivery time, I was the right stirrup. Up close, personal, scared, elated….after 9 months and hours of labor the delivery was relatively quick. I experienced it all.
Now it is time to become a grandparent. No longer in the delivery room, the grandparents are all gathered in the waiting room along with my daughter (on deck in case dad-to-be passes out.)
We expected Dad to crash through the double waiting room doors and announce the birth, like in the movies. Mom was having a C-section, and this is abdominal surgery. So wait we did.
My kids and I have a group text distribution list we use for updates, pictures, and sharing. Dad’s first communication from the front line was cryptic.
“I’ve seen her.”
The grandparents erupt in joy and repeat over and over. I’m confused. Who has he seen? Last I heard, he was going in to meet his wife. Has he seen his wife or…or have we been blessed with our granddaughter? I reply, “Who have you seen?”
Minutes go by. This is a fast process. What’s going on? What is taking so long? Is there an issue.
The next communication is a picture…a picture of the newborn.
Tears are the order of the day. The grandparents hug and cry. We stare at the picture of the little baby girl.
Questions swirl. Mom’s parents are asking if Mom is OK. Others want dimensions.
I’m presuming Mom is ok or no pictures would be coming, and still she’s their daughter and they are understandably concerned. Items like size are interesting, and represent a point of departure where all subsequent measures will compare. Personally, I’d like to know her name.
My daughter DOES know the name, and won’t tell. I try to bribe her with a Starbucks, and she isn’t caving in even for Starbucks. “Will I like the name?” My daughter looks up, smiles and nods her head.
Suddenly sonny boy comes out, walking like he had just completed the Boston Marathon. He’s exhausted, in awe, and a little overwhelmed.
“Everything is fine. We can bring in grandparents two at a time, and then you’ll learn name from us.”
Hugs again, tears again….and then the processional to greet the little one starts.
I feel pride. Heck, I took a day off from work for this and rarely, every take a day off. I am bursting with pride. Run around the halls kind of pride.
With new mom and dad’s approval, I start posting photos to Facebook at a frightening pace…certainly challenging Facebook’s ability to process. Yes, she’s a decedent and all that, and privately I worry my posts may overwhelm/bore my “friends.” Heck, some of my friends are childless. To the contrary, the “likes” start rolling in. People “like” these pictures of my granddaughter. Klout, a tool for measuring social influence, suggests my greatest recent moments (actually my top six movements) are granddaughter pictures.
While I’ve suggest to my son he should publish a daily picture of the grandbaby, my occasional updates on Facebook are still met with an onslaught of happiness, and comments indicating people are really paying attention (comments on eyelashes, or a headband, or her dad’s hand.) If a few days go by, inevitably a friend will ask for an updated picture.
I find myself driving thirty minutes for the opportunity to see and hold her, or to “check in” since I was “in the neighborhood.” My daughter Auntie is often found holding the little one. Her parents are still very watchful, still in awe, and are predictably exhausted. They are lucky, too. They get to be up close and personal with her all the time, and not just getting vague updates via text.
My grandchild brings me joy and happiness. I can’t wait for her parents to leave her with me so the serious spoiling can begin.