For Melinda

Melinda, the production and web guru in my office, has just announced that she'll be a new grandmother in the spring. She's so excited she's dancing at her desk, but I heard her tell someone, "I don't know a thing about being a grandmother!" At the time, I thought, "What's to know? They're your grandbabies and you love them--and you cook and clean for their mothers when you can." But this weekend, with four of my six at my house, I reflected that it's not that simple. So this is unsolicited advice for Melinda.
I've only seen fifteen-month-old Morgan four times now in her life--she's lived those months in Colorado, too far to travel easily. Her parents have been wonderful about talking to her about me, showing her my picture (which she sometimes carries around and kisses), and calling me on the Skype so she can see me. But in the flesh, she doesn't know me. Friday night she brushed me away if I tried to hold her hand or rub her little leg, and when her father said, "Here, hold her for me a minute," she cried. (She did the same thing for Uncle Jamie who thought he had the magic touch!). A year ago at Thanksgiving, we were great friends but now she knows about "separation anxiety," that phrase I never heard when my babies were little and one I've come to dislike. (To be fair, Morgan had been in the car for two days and was missing her mom who was still back in Colorado.)
Maddie never really rejected me. As an infant, she knew my voice and she smiled at me. There were times I was a favorite, like the night she cried halfway to Dallas when she figured out I wasn't going home with them. Or the times she'd run around chanting, "Night, night, darlin'" because that's what I said to her. But sometimes when she was two or three, she wouldn't have a thing to do with me--it hurt my feelings, but when I mentioned it to Jamie, he said, "Mom, she's only three!" Nowadays we're friends all the time, and if I ask for a hug and she refuses, it's a tease. Her sister, on the other hand, eyed me with suspicion almost from the first. Edie was a momma's girl, and she would not let me touch her or hold her until, I swear, she was half grown. She's close to four now, and we're good friends, but it hasn't been too long since she'd still occasionally tell me in determined tones, "No! Mama!"
I didn't see Sawyer enough to know that he was more than shy with me, but one day when he was just beginning to talk, he pointed to a picture of me and said, "Gaga!" The name has stuck, in spite of the fact that the other famlies call me Juju, and Sawyer seems to like me, like being at my house. Once at the way home, he said, "Go home," and his parents assured him they were going home. He said, "No, Gaga's home!" And when I last saw him he gave me a big kiss and said, "Make Gaga happy!"
The first couple of times I held tiny Ford, he cried--I didn't feel, smell or sound like Mama--but he quickly got to where he'd cuddle on my shoulder to sleep or if I put him in my lap he'd stare intently at me as though he was trying to figure out the world and me. I can't help but wonder how he'll change, and I'm grateful I'll see him again in two weeks--and Sawyer.
And then there's four-month-old Jacob, who once he got beyond a couple of weeks cried every time I held him. I gave up and loved him from a distance, pecking kisses at his nose, talking to him in his car seat, but not trying to hold him. All of a sudden, after I was in Austin for a week, he's decided I'm okay. He grins when he sees me and kicks his feet and waves hs arms in excitement, and he sits happily on my lap, turning to crane his neck so he can see me.
So my whole point is it's not uncomplicated love--you're not the parent, you're the grandparent, and though each child is different, each will occasionally break your heart with rejection--something we never knew from our own children, at least until they were teenagers!
Another lesson learned: much as your kids love you, they don't want you around all the time. They need lots of time together to become a family--once again, you're the grandparent, and it's not the same as being the parent. They are a unit and while close, you're not part of that unit. And you're not the first person the babies turn to. In some ways, having grandchildren has made me nostalgic for the days when mine were babies and I was the center of their universe.
Of course raising babies--and the gadgets available--has changed so much in twenty or thirty years, that your ways of doing things won't work. You have to listen, watch and learn. I've yet to see a bottle sterilizer (how I hated that thing!) or a playpen (don't hamper their development!) or the homemade baby food I used to whip up in the blender.
Seems to me I had one more sage observation, but I've lost it. And there is the other side, grandchildren bring great rewards and wonderful love. Maddie said to me once recenty, "Juju, I just love being at your house. I'm never bored here!" I wouldn't trade anything for a minute or two with any of my six grandchildren--and I look forward to the seventh, due in April.
Melinda will make a fine grandmother, and she'll love it every bit as much as I do.