Time With My Granddaughter

I was able to travel to meet my new granddaughter a couple of weeks ago. During my visit, I think I avoided the “where’s that baby?” syndrome I wrote about recently. I tried to help with household chores as much as with tending the baby. But I did do lots of baby-cuddling during the week I stayed with my daughter’s family.

It surprised me how easily I remembered caring for a newborn. I haven’t done much of it for over thirty-five years. I remembered to support her head. I diapered with a quick and deft hand (though I was told on one occasion I hadn’t put the diaper on tight enough). I cuddled her close while I fed her a bottle, and lifted her to my shoulder to burp her (which she didn’t like).

My voice fell naturally into the soft, high-pitched tones we all use when talking to babies. I spoke in nonsense words, which I repeated until they become even more nonsensical. At this stage, the point is not what the words are but their sound, accustoming the baby to my voice. Understanding comes later.

I arrived when she was two weeks old and left a week later. During that time, I marveled at her daily development. By the time I left, she could differentiate her mother’s voice from others. She knew the difference between bottle and breastfeeding (and preferred the former as being much easier). She could hold her head up briefly, though still with lots of bobbles. She was uncertain about the benefits of bathing, and voiced her uncertainty. She paused everything to focus on elimination—a process that surprised her every time. She didn’t enjoy having her diaper changed, but was happy once it was clean.

I know babies aren’t supposed to be able to smile until they’re around a month old, but I like to think she smiled when I talked to her. I’m certain she smacked her lips to communicate her desire for me to resume feeding the bottle, though the action may have been reflexive. And she played a little with her hands, but hadn’t found her feet yet, though she noticed when I touched them.

We played a little game that involved me singing and running my finger from her tummy to her nose. She didn’t object, which I took to mean she liked it. Interaction across the generations from the very beginning.

After a week with her, I’m an expert—in this baby, if not in all babies.

Now that I have left her, I miss seeing what my granddaughter is learning each day. I have too many obligations at home to stay—and my daughter and her husband wouldn’t want me there indefinitely. But I do miss her.

At least I know when I will see her next. Her parents will bring her to visit us in a few months. By then she will be holding her head up with confidence. She might be turning over. Her eyes will focus on more than light and dark, and she might even play with a few toys.

Toys. I have to send her toys. Put that on my to-do list.

As this post reveals, I am clearly doting, and perhaps I am in my dotage. That’s what grandchildren do to us.

How do you dote on your grandchildren? Or are you at the stage where your parents dote on your children?