These essays were originally published as a monthly grandparenting column in Growing up in Santa Cruz. Friday is the day I get to spend with my granddaughter. Lolly is the grandma name I’ve given myself. My granddaughter has yet to call me by this name.
New Grandma
My first grandchild arrived seven months ago. A little girl (at least for now) called Grace. I’ve wanted to be a granddaughter for a long time. I always thought I’d be a young grandmother. I had my children wen I was young, and my mother was only forty-six when she became a grandmother. So, becoming a grandmother at sixty seems old to me. Still, I am surprised or maybe just disappointed, that no one is shocked to learn that I am grandmother. I have yet to hear the words, “you look too young to be a grandmother!” On the upside, having a grandchild has taken the sting out of turning sixty.
Because you are just getting to know me, I should tell you that I have always been a worrier, a worst-case scenario type. And even though my journey through grand-mothering has just begun, I predict many of musings will have a nervous nellie bent. I was that way as a mother, and I will be that way as a grandmother. But I also have perspective, which is something I did not have when I was raising my babies. Then every decision was monumental, and I know now that was a monumental waste of time and energy. So even though I will worry about my grandchild choking on solid food for the rest of my life, I now have a sense of humor and levity that I didn’t have back then.
I feel so fortunate to live down the street from my son and his family and am thrilled to babysit regularly. I may not always feel this way, but for now it’s just right. I consider myself a natural with babies, but my skills have not been tested for a long time. Turns out babies are the same, but the rules and accessories are not. My babies slept in pajamas with a blanket and a sheet and maybe a stuffed animal (actually I don’t remember what was in their crib, the point is they survived it). Grace sleeps in a funny sleeping suit that keeps her from moving around too much and nothing else. To be clear, I am not saying this is wrong. I’m all for anything that keeps baby safe. I’m only saying it takes some getting used to. And some pride swallowing. It turns out pride is a major choking hazard!
Also, the fact that I’m “good” with babies is irrelevant. It turns out no one wants my opinions about parenting. By no one, I mean the parents of my grandchild. This was not news to me, I learned this in the first chapters of Grandparenting for Dummies, and from every grandparent I have ever met. Still, it’s hard to take it when your son corrects you on your diapering technique. And then there’s all the “new fangled” equipment (now there’s a phrase that will date a person). But the hard truth is that everything as changed, from which side the baby sleeps on, (spoiler alert, it’s the back side) to the stroller that converts to a car seat; a bassinet; a highchair and a floatation devise!
Along with my fear of choking I have a fear of dying in a stupid household accident and I’m pretty sure the legs attached to that sleek highchair in my kitchen are going to be the death of me. The legs spread out in four directions like a tent. (Maybe we could throw a sheet over it and use it as one. Oh wait, she’s not allowed to have bedding in her bed. Never mind.) I know it’s designed to keep the chair from tipping over, but what good is that if grandma is face down on the floor? Also, the highchair I had back in the day with regular legs, never tipped over. I’m just saying.
My Grand Maternal Brain
My granddaughter is adorable and everything she does is adorable. I’m not just saying that because I’m her grandmother. Everyone thinks so. She is objectively adorable. Why do I feel the need to say that? Probably because I am not only an adoring grandmother, I am also an obnoxious grandmother. And I’m not just saying that. I am objectively an obnoxious grandmother. Everyone says so. I can’t get enough of that little pumpkin. I make excuses to stop by just so I can smell the top or her head (which is very big because of all the brains).
I knew that I would love my grandchild even if she wasn’t objectively adorable. And I thought I knew what that love would feel like, but I was surprised by the intensity of my love. I could have left it at that and continued to smother her with my grandmother love, but because I am me, I pathologized it. I wondered if perhaps I needed to get a life. I asked my grandmother friends if it was normal to feel this way. (Side bar: if you had asked me when I was little what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said, “normal.” As an adult I know that normal is not a great life goal, but it’s hard to teach an old grandma new tricks.). My friends all agreed my feelings were normal or at least not inappropriate, but I couldn’t just take their word for it. I had to ask the expert, Dr. Google.
Imagine my joy, when I discovered an actual scientific study validating my feelings! A group of anthropologists and neuroscientists (who were apparently reading my mind) teamed up to investigate the relationship between grandmothers and their grandchildren. The author of the study, James Rilling, found that when grandmothers looked at pictures of their grandchildren, there was activation in the brain areas that are associated with emotional empathy (feeling emotions that another person is feeling), but when grandmothers looked at pictures of their grandchildren’s same-sex parent (often the grandmother’s own child), there was more activation in the areas of the brain linked with what is called cognitive empathy (understanding at a cognitive level what a person is thinking or feeling). “If their grandchild is smiling, they’re feeling the child’s joy. And if their grandchild is crying, they’re feeling the child’s pain and distress. These findings suggest that when mothers are engaging with their grandchildren versus their children, they may be adopting these sorts of different mental perspectives.” Rilling goes on to say that “young children have likely evolved traits to be able to manipulate not just the maternal brain but the grand-maternal brain … An adult child doesn’t have the same cute ‘factor,’ so they may not elicit the same emotional response … [T]his work is a reminder about the uniquely enriching ways the elderly people in our lives can contribute.”
My grand-maternal brain was right there with you, James, until you referred to me as elderly.
Being Here
My granddaughter is exhausting. But I’m not complaining. When I am with her, I am all in. When she is hungry, I feed her, when she wants to climb up the stairs, I follow behind her ready to catch her if she falls. When she wants to open and close and open and close and open and close the cupboard doors, I sit patiently on the stool until something else catches her eye. The cat walks in, unaware that there is a strange and scary little being who is about to squeal with delight at her presence. She follows the frightened kitty into the bedroom, and I am right there with her. “The kitty isn’t sure about you, bug,” I tell her. She smiles, more determined than ever.
She is always in the present moment, and when I am with her so am I. This might be the only time I am.
My granddaughter is exhausting, that is why I do what everyone tells new mothers to do, (although they never do it because they have a to-do list, another child, a meal to prepare, clothes to wash) My list sits politely somewhere in the back of my mind. I sleep when the baby sleeps. Well, I don’t sleep, that would be out of the question. I have to be alert; in case she wakes up. I can’t let go in that way; I can’t let my guard down. What if she wakes up and I don’t?
So, no I don’t sleep, I rest. I rest with her sleeping on my chest. Sometimes for hours. and every so often, or more like every few minutes, I smell the top of her head or kiss it gently. I listen to her breathe and watch whatever show I am currently binging, with the volume very low. It doesn’t matter if I miss some of the action. Sometimes she wakes up and lifts her head and looks at me and smiles and lays her rosy cheek on my chest again and falls back into a peaceful sleep. Sometimes she wakes up crying and tosses her head and body around and lays her head down with a bit of a thump and fusses for a while. I sing her favorite song. I’ve always been embarrassed to sing in front of anyone, but I sing and my voice, my not-so-great voice, soothes her back to sleep.
I hope I was this way with my own babies, but I’m not sure I was. The truth is I don’t remember. I remember feeling worried all the time. Worried that I was doing something, maybe everything wrong.
Now, with her, I know that I am doing everything right.
When she wakes up there is no more rest, there is diaper changing and lunch and following her carefully as she climbs up the stairs again and gets too close to the kitty litter and has to be distracted. And I carry her back down the stairs very carefully, I am too old to do this, and she too heavy for me to carry. But here I am carrying her down the stairs. I can’t lift her car seat with her in it, but somehow, I get her in the car. I can’t push the stroller up and down the hill, but she loves the bumpy road so here we go again.
At the end of the day, I am eager for her dad to come and take her. But then we he does of course it’s bittersweet. And I am exhausted in the best way.
Over the Top Grandma
As I write this, I have:
- One nine-month-old granddaughter.
- Two doll houses, both undergoing extensive remodels.
- One charming wooden kitchen mixer with equally charming accessories for making pretend baked goods. (Appropriate for age three or older, though I’m pretty sure my very advanced granddaughter will be pretend baking by age two.)
- Another enchanting toy espresso machine in my Amazon cart because every make-believe slice of cake needs a tiny cup of imaginary espresso.
- One oh-so-cute dress that will be a perfect fit in five years, if she keeps growing at her current rate.
- Several piles of children’s books. (If she starts now, she can finish reading them by the time she’s fifteen.)
I’m pretty sure this makes me one over-the-top grandmother.
I didn’t even mention the things I’ve found for free. Was I supposed to leave the hand-crafted doll bed and highchair on the side of the road just because I don’t know if my granddaughter will like dolls or even be tall enough to play with them for another three years? My husband thought I was. There is also the abandon Radio Flyer rocking horse, almost as big as a real-life pony, currently living in my garage. Every time I walk by, it whinnies at me, as if to remind me how ridiculous I am.
Am I trying to win a competition? Do I think Amazon will be out of business in two years, and I will have missed my chance to buy all the cute things in the world? Of course not, Amazon will always be here. I, however, will not. And there it is: I’m afraid I will die before I get a chance to buy all the things and she will forget about me forever. On the other (less dark) hand, it could be a simple matter of “wherever you go, there you are.” I’ve always been a collector and lover of little things, so I guess it’s only natural for me to stockpile for the next generation. I was hoping by this age I would have stopped trying to be different than I am–that I would have embraced my quirks. But here I am still wondering why I do what I do and if I’m going to die an untimely death (most likely a slip and fall, involving a small toy).
Even though age appropriate and educational playthings are not as adorable, as say, a tiny mouse in a toy crib, I have those too. The newest addition to the toy basket is a collection of magnetic shapes, some with faces showing different expressions: one happy, one sad, one surprised, one I’m not sure, queasy, maybe? The very helpful saleswoman explained that the faces help babies learn about emotions. And here I thought babies learned about emotions from having them and seeing other people have them. At any rate, all my exceptionally smart grandchild wants to do is eat them.
I would keep writing but I need to get going on her birthday present. Her first birthday is right around the corner, but I’ve been so busy planning her high school graduation party that I’m way behind on what is actually right in front of me.
Coming Soon, A Great Grandmother….
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