In some ways, these concerns seem so very . . . I don't know, twentieth century. We are all, of course, mind-bogglingly hyper-connected in this postmodern era. With web cams and an internet connection, we can in fact see our family whenever we want; Nico certainly spends more time online with his grandparents than I did face-to-face with mine. But the paradox of this intense connectivity is that it's always coupled with reminders of the actual distance between us: the limits of battery life and bandwidth are nagging indices of the miles from the Midwest to the East coast, and the inevitable technical glitches can make our online visits feel as alienating as they are enjoyable.

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I recently wrote a letter to my own grandmother on the occasion of her ninetieth birthday, reminiscing about my earliest memories of her and reflecting on the pleasures of the grandparent-grandchild relationship. What struck me while writing was how physical my memories of her are, how many of them involve touch and smell and presence. Watching Nico interact with his grandparents online, it becomes clear just how challenging it is to create a relationship with a child (especially a pre-lingual child) when those elements of physicality are removed. They've risen to the challenge as admirably as anyone possibly could, honing their performance skills and developing an arsenal of visual entertainment techniques to rival any children's television host.

They're a comedic duo, with Grandpap playing the straight man in Grandma's routines: she dresses him in funny hats, tugs on his ears and nose, feeds him with a huge wooden spoon — they do whatever it takes to get a busy toddler engaged with a twelve-inch screen. Our visits are always tinged by a certain sadness. And there is genuine joy in the experience, on both sides. But our visits are always tinged by a certain sadness. When we end our weekly calls, my parents' longing is almost palpable — my mother frequently signs off by saying something like, "Oh, Nico, why don't you just come over for the rest of the afternoon? We can walk to the park and swing on the swings" in a faux-cheerful voice. And I find myself missing more substantive conversations with them, especially now, since being at sea in the world of parenting has given me such a different perspective on them as people.

Having a baby made me value my family in new and unexpected ways; and after Nico was born, the miles between us and his grandparents seemed to stretch open like some yawning, indifferent beast. To be sure, Skype makes that distance feel a little less beastly. And for Nico, whose days are immersed in imaginative play, maybe navigating that distance virtually is not such a perilous undertaking. Regardless, even five years ago we could have only traversed it in that old-fashioned, embodied way to be together at holidays and for significant family events; so for now, we're all grateful for those Sunday lunches, and for lovely moments of inconsequential togetherness, virtual or not.