Grandmother's Lament
I used to be in charge. Then my son had a baby.
by Barbara Graham
May 8, 2009
In Eye of My Heart: 27 Writers Reveal the Hidden Pleasures and Perils of Being A Grandmother, a new collection of essays that I edited and which touches on some of the myriad complications between grandparents and their adult children, Anne Roiphe explains: "When I say 'I think the bath is too hot,' I simply mean that the water may be too warm for the baby. But my daughters might hear me say, 'You can't get the bath temperature right. What's the matter with you?' Their distress is an expression of their fear that they might be doing something wrong when they want so urgently to do everything right. From me, my daughters want support, admiration, encouragement — and that is all they want. They have books, the Internet, and friends for everything else."
At times I find myself wishing that there were courses for prospective grandparents, the way there are for parents-to-be. Instead of breathing exercises and baby care sessions, there would be deprogramming programs that train new grandparents to seal their lips. While we're at it, a crash course in how to operate the latest strollers, car seats and other fancy new equipment that didn't exist when we were raising our kids wouldn't hurt either.
The week at the beach becomes my training ground. I do the shopping, cook the meals, fetch diapers and wipes, and hold the towel at the ready for the baby when her parents are done bathing her in a large lobster pot in the kitchen sink. I refrain from picking her up — or doing anything else for her — unless specifically asked. Fortunately, my son and daughter-in-law like to take long walks and sit out under the stars, and during those intervals my pearl of a granddaughter is mine.
I don't know why this age-old dance between new parents and their parents has caught me so off guard. God knows, I was as possessive of my son as a tiger is of her newborn cubs whenever my own mother blew into town. Maybe the fact that I've always been so much closer to my son than I ever was to my mother led to me believe that this chapter would be different too.
My own baby care skills feel a bit rusty.When I am able to stand back and not take playing second fiddle personally, I am awed and amazed by my son and daughter-in-law, who are so competent and confident, so in tune with their baby's needs. How did they get this way? Is this biology at work? Is it also biology at work (or, rather, not at work) that my own baby care skills feel a bit rusty and that I'm secretly terrified of accidentally killing my darling granddaughter?
Even so, there are times when only Nonna (my grandmother name, which sounds hipper to my ear than Nana or Grandma) will do. I seem to have a narcoleptic effect on the baby, and so during our week at the beach I am frequently called upon to rock her to sleep, especially when she fusses. I am thrilled to be of use. Still, I must continually bite my tongue to avoid volunteering my services before I'm officially asked by the powers that be.
©2009 Barabara Graham and Babble Media
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