"A grandchild fill a space in your heart that you never knew was empty."
I was never going to be one of “those” grandparents. You know the type. They carry enough pictures for a photo gallery; they have bumper stickers that insist that you ask them about their grandbaby, and are firmly convinced that no other child that has ever existed is as beautiful, clever or adorable as their grandchild. Nope, that was definitely not me!
Until November 13th, 1994. I was only 39, so maybe I can use that as my excuse. I had been ready to head to Fort Carson Army Base all day November 12th. My son called and told me that his wife was in labor so I loaded my car. He called me back and told me they sent her home, so I unpacked my car. I had clients that I needed to see if it was a false alarm. He called two more times to tell me she was in the hospital and two more times telling me they were false alarms. Since I had false labor with my own first born, I knew it could be another week.
At 6:30 a.m. on the 13th, the phone rang. “Are you heading back in?” I asked sleepily. “He’s here!” my son answered in a voice I’ve never heard before or since. “He can’t be here! I’m not there!”
I began to cry…more like sobbing, really. There was something so emotional to suddenly feel immortal. No matter what, a little part of me goes on. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, but it is an emotional thing. I flew to Colorado Springs on grandmother wings. I made it in twelve hours flat.
I rushed into the hospital room and my son handed me the baby, Michael Jonathan Philbeck. I looked at him and he studied me and that was it. I was sucked into the obnoxious grandmother vortex, from which no one has even been known to return. When you see your own child for the first time, you love them, it’s natural, but when you see your grandchild for the first time, you fall in love with them. All the nonsense you believed and practiced with your children…all the things your ego insisted your children would never do…all those unreasonable expectations just melt away.
If my grandbaby wants to pretend to be a choo choo train or a dinosaur (pronounced, dinofore) in public…so be it! Who cares what people think? If we need to watch Bambi or Dumbo 1,000 times because it’s Monday, crank up the VCR.
My grandson came to live with me when he was two years old. He is a gift that I didn’t even realize I needed. Not every moment was fun, but every moment has been filled with love and I am forever grateful!
By the way, in case you were wondering, he’s a straight A, Honor Society, Debate winning, guitar playing, sweet, kind and extremely handsome young man. I knew you wanted to ask, but I misplaced that silly bumper sticker!
Happy 17th Birthday, Michael Jonathan! Your Punkin loves you more than life!
"A mother becomes a true grandmother the day she stops noticing the terrible things her children do because she is so enchanted with the wonderful things her grandchildren do."
Author: Lois Wyse