GRAND-BABY WATCH

My first grand-baby was due 5 days ago, and I'm losing my mind.  I thought only mothers-to-be nested; no one told me that I'd be doing it too.  Relentlessly.

Two days ago, I organized my entire basement.  I found a spot for the crutches no one (thankfully) has used in 15 years, and the 500 rolls of toilet paper I've gathered over my recent trips to the grocery store.

Yesterday, I organized my closets.

Today, however, I hit the mother load.  I went into the attic, and found my children's ever-so-tiny baby clothes, a few sweet-smelling blankets (each with tattered satin trim), and a love-worn, wind-up bunny.  When I picked up the bunny, it chirped out a few faint notes, unprovoked.   I stopped, in wonder.  After almost 30 years in a box, that just couldn't be.  But then I smiled.  The bunny had been waiting, all these years, for the next generation.  If only it would arrive.

But most of all, up there in the attic, I felt a bittersweet, pull-at-my-heart tenderness, being so close to the tangible reminders of my children's childhood.  I was caught up in the midst of a time gone by, which seemed like yesterday, but that I knew could never come back.  Time had marched on.  I had grown older.  Now it was my son's turn to be a parent.  Someday he would know how I felt today, and I already grieved for him.   Parenthood isn't for the faint of heart.  Apparently, neither is being a grandparent.

Nature sets its own schedule.  My grand-baby will be born in time.  At this point, I need only fall into life's cadence, and appreciate that forces well beyond my own are at work.  It would also be good for me to appreciate that life gives us so few true surprises, and that I have a big one to look forward to.

But my mind keeps taking me back to the night my son was born, and I held him in my arms.  A thunderstorm raged outside my hospital window, and it was magical.  Each time a flash of lightening cut through the darkness, I saw two tiny eyes looking up at me.  That's when I knew that my life would never be the same, and that I had an entirely new purpose.   I felt whole.  I cried, out of sheer joy.  Then I fell asleep, with him in my arms.

I don't know what I'll do tomorrow.  I'm running out of nesting projects.  Or at least ones I want to do.  Perhaps I'll get back to the office.  Or maybe not.  Do grandmothers play hooky?  I hope so.  Regardless, I know I will.

Ultimately, my hope is that my grandchild, once born, will learn to embrace ordinary moments that make life extraordinary.  And that I am with him or her, as long as possible, to enjoy the ride.