My first grandchild, fast approaching 9 months, is truly a double delight. He already sports two international passports. He is vicariously learning two different languages, and he has two beautiful blue eyes that lock on you and won’t let go.
Over the past 10 days, I got to experience, for the first time, what it is truly like to be a grandfather. My oldest son, his wife, and my grandson live overseas primarily. While I have seen my grandson twice before (four days after he was born and at five months), our most recent visit introduced me to a bouncy bundle of energy: a smiling, curious, clapping, highly determined little man resolute to crawl, put everything in his mouth, pull himself up, and say “wawawa”, repeatedly, while waving to living and inanimate objects alike.
Like my father did with my son many moons ago, I held my grandson on my lap and he banged out some piano keys with mighty purpose and limited rhythm. Flashing back 30 years, little did we know that my father and my son would both share a love of music. That may not be the same case now, (blogger’s note: I am slowly, very slowly, starting to re-learn piano), holding my grandson on the same piano bench as my father did with his evokes heavy emotions about nostalgia, mortality, and the circle of life, of course mixed with the more practical concerns of what a great distraction tool the piano is for little ones.
Being grandpa is a contact physical sport for sure. First, you have to get down on the floor, often. Enough said. It seems so much easier for grandma. Second, you have to carry said grandson around and be sure not to drop him. He is heavy and squiggly. I never dropped him but one time on the floor, while he was under my supervision, he did slightly bump his head on the high chair. There was no harm and no foul (or crying or stoppage in play), but I did have to turn myself in to his parents. Not knowing what to expect, I contacted my lawyer and got child protection on speed dial, but like everything else, the parents were totally cool.
This nothing incident reminded me of one of my worst parenting moments from years back. My youngest son, also a squiggly bugger like his new nephew, was under my care when I placed him responsibly in a multi-purpose car seat-like container on top of the kitchen table. I swear I secured him in there, but next thing I knew he was out of the chair and on the floor, five feet below. While I believe that he fell primarily on his butt and not his head, It clearly was a major father fail. However, he is about to get a PhD so I consider the matter resolved.
As they say, being a grandpa has many advantages over being a parent. For one, I sleep. I also forgot how much stuff is required to tend to babies. It is like the second calvary descended on our house. The food too has gone exotic. I don’t remember serving or being served when I was a baby avocado on dissolvable toast.
There are some things, though, that never change: the absolute love of a new human, especially one who shares some of your genes; the beautiful baby smell, and the porcelain smooth skin. And with his wispy hair coming in along with his tiny teeth, I smile that the bright promise of tomorrow follows my new grandson every little step he engenders to take.
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