“Where’s That Baby?” Redux

Soon I will get to meet my new granddaughter. I have anticipated this moment for months. I can’t wait to get her into my arms.

And yet, I also remember how it felt to have my own new baby—it seemed everyone wanted the baby, and no one wanted me anymore. I described one incident with my grandmother in an earlier post, but here’s a recap:

I took my son to visit my parents when he was two months old. My parents had visited us in Kansas City right after he was born, so they had met him. But my grandmothers had not. My son was the third or fourth great-grandchild for one grandmother, so new babies didn’t have a huge fascination for her by the time he came along.

But my son was the first great-grandchild for my maternal grandmother. She came to visit my parents not long after I arrived at their house with my son. I greeted her at the door.

She walked right past me without her usual hug and kiss.

“Let me see that baby,” she demanded as she rushed into the family room where someone was holding him. (Someone was always holding him.)

That told me where I stood in her estimation, now that I had produced the next generation.

This memory has new significance for me now. However much I want to hold my granddaughter, I still love my daughter—for many reasons beyond the fact that she has made me a grandmother. I want her and her husband to build their own family without my interference. (Well, without much interference.) And I am confident that they can.

So I try not to focus entirely on the baby when I email, text, and call. I ask about my daughter’s post-partum health as well as my granddaughter’s post-natal health. I inquire about their household’s sleeplessness and how the dogs are adapting to the baby. I try to balance my eagerness to offer suggestions about the baby with sensitivity to their wishes, particularly because many aspects of parenthood have changed in the last forty years. I don’t know it all, and I try not to be overbearing.

I’m trying hard to remember my place, and I hope I don’t rush into their house when I arrive demanding, “where’s that baby?” But it is certainly possible that I will do something similar. Because I can’t wait to get her into my arms. Every picture of her makes my heart melt. She is a part of me, though I haven’t even met her.

When have past episodes in your life influenced your behavior long after the fact?