Nothing Like the First Grandchild

My first grandchild arrived seven months ago. A little girl (at least for now) called Grace. I’ve wanted to be a grandmother for a long time.

I always thought I’d be a young grandmother. I had my children when 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 a 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 my 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 my 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 the accessories are not. My babies slept in pajamas with a blanket and a sheet and maybe a stuffed animal (Actually I can’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 the baby safe. I’m just 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 chapter 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 newfangled equipment (now there’s a phrase that will date a person).

But the hard truth is that everything has 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 device!

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 the regular legs never tipped over, I’m just saying.

By Sarah Savasky