Grandparents' Club

by Angela Sanford

A year ago, as my eldest son and his wife eagerly awaited the arrival of their first child and everyone kept asking me the same question: “Aren’t you so excited?”

   Honestly? I wasn’t sure why I was supposed to be excited. Of course, I was happy for Devin and Taylor. I was delighted by their announcement. But this wasn’t my baby. I wasn’t going to be the one raising her, pacing the floors at night, or pureeing carrots into submission. So, while I smiled politely as people offered congratulations, I remained a little puzzled about all the fuss.

   Then came Layla.

   We went straight to the hospital to meet her. I held her, admired her perfect fingers and tiny toes, and yes, I was thrilled—but not enchanted. Not yet.

   But oh, how things have changed.

   Over the past year, that magic—that grandparent magic—has wrapped itself tightly around my heart. It crept in slowly. Just like with my own children,  I could handle them leaving me just fine whenever they needed to. But if I had to leave them – even as adults? The tears would well up, and the prolonged goodbyes would begin. That ache has returned—only now, it includes Layla.

I still remember my first visit to their house after they came home from the hospital. Handing her back to her mother was an emotional tug-of-war. I warned Taylor she might need to pry Layla from my arms—or risk me moving in, or Layla coming home with me.

Then came the first time I babysat. That sweet girl never left my arms. We rocked. I sang. We read books. We curled up on the deck under a cozy blanket and let the world slow down.

   Next came the spoiling. A jumper. Then a highchair so she could dine with the grownups. Then Fisher-Price “Little People” toys—yes, I’ve already played with them—and I’m eagerly awaiting the day Layla joins me. And last week? Last week, I walked into a bookstore to purchase a single children’s book for church…and walked out with enough books to stock a small library. For Layla, of course.

   Now I get it. Now I understand why everyone asked if I was excited.

   But today? Today topped it all.

   It was Friday afternoon, and after a frustrating work week, I needed a fix of my granddaughter like a coffee addict needs their first cup. When I opened her parents' door, there she was—facing me, eyes lighting up, grinning from ear to ear. The moment I stepped inside, she babbled, and I was a goner.

   She reached out with those chubby little arms and toddled toward me, hand-in-hand—for now. It won’t be long before she walks all on her own. She told me stories in her sweet baby babble, bounced on my knee, and blew raspberries on my shoulder until it was a slobbery mess.

   Watching her marvel at the world, lost in her little discoveries around the room, I felt the stress of the week dissolve like sugar in tea. Layla had worked her magic again.

   And now? Now, I proudly understand the motto of the Grandparents’ Club—“Resistance is futile. You will give in.”