The One Where She Holds the Line

To answer Nan’s question, I will happily be called Grandma. It was good enough for Neva and Dora, my two perfectly perfect grandmothers, who were, between the two of them, everything a good grandma should be. A lot of people have asked me, what do you think about being a grandma? to which my pat response has been “Weird,” or “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.” Which responses were completely true. I really had no way of saying how I felt about it until I actually experienced it. But now I have been a grandmother for two and a half days.

I realized :( as we pulled up to the hospital where Josh, Jessi and Jif were recovering from birth, that I was very excited. I thought that it would be so fun to see my son and daughter-in-law in the role of parents, and see this little stranger for the first time. But then we walked in and I saw him. I had the same reaction to him that I had when I saw Josh for the very first time, and then each of my seven in their turns. This was not the stranger baby I was expecting to hold for the first time. I could have walked into the nursery full of babies, and picked him out without ever having seen him before. I knew that when I saw Joshua as a newborn, too. I looked at him, and thought, Well, of course that is him. He is so perfectly part of us. So familiar. I have known him forever. The thing is, I just didn’t expect to already know Jif.

People always say that being a grandma is way better than being a mom. You can love them, spoil them, and then send them home to their parents. I know you have heard this...everyone says it, right? Well, I am sorry, but that is just not true. At least it is not for me. I could not pry myself out of that hospital room for several hours on Saturday. The problem (if it is one), I finally realized, is that I would be perfectly happy to trade them. They can leave, and I will stay here with this perfect baby tonight. I will sit with warm blankets on my swollen abdomen to soothe the afterpains; I’ll take the icepacks and the bleeding. I’ll brave the cracked nipples and grit my teeth to nurse when his mouth feels just like a pair of pliers. I will take that sensation where when you stand up to hobble to the bathroom, it feels like all of your insides might just fall out. I will sit awake all night, holding him skin to skin, or just look at him for hours under that fluorescent light, and think how entirely amazing he is...how smart, and alert, and incredibly, impossibly beautiful. Here is the deal: I want to be a mother forever and ever and ever.

Please don’t take this the wrong way. I love what great parents Josh and Jessi already are. They are so patient and calm and wonderful. It doesn’t even make me feel old to be called Grandma. I don’t get jealous when I look at other people’s babies, and wish they were mine. I am going to love being a grandma. But I am not going to lie and say that it is better than being a mom. Jessi got the better end of this one.

I don’t think that I am one of those “over-mothering” mothers. I don’t follow my big kids around and try to tell them what to do all the time... and I’m sure that if I don’t speak the truth, here, they will feel free to comment and correct me. But what in the entire world could be better than having children, watching them be perfect babies, and then adorable two-year-olds, and then teenagers who are smart and funny and make all kinds of mistakes, and then, before you know it, grown-ups who are better at everything than you ever were? There could not be anything better. So there I will hold the line.

Grandma I am; and I have to say that including a new grandson in my family can only be described as life-altering. I love him like crazy. But please don’t cue the Circle of Life music quite yet. I am not done with the first part. And I don’t ever intend to be. I am going to be a mother for eternity.

The One Where She Went the Distance

So my daughter-in-law Jessica is 41 weeks pregnant. And counting. The nausea and vomiting that took her through her first two trimesters is back. She has been having painful contractions and she is working full-time as a nurse in pediatrics at the hospital. She is pretty much done. I remember exactly what that feels like. Sorry, Jes. Here’s hoping for tonight. And for a quick labor, great epidural, short pushing phase, perfect baby, cranberry spritzer and a single good night’s sleep.

Then, here’s to brand-new car seats, baby clothes washed in Ivory Snow, a little head as soft as velvet, booties that won't stay on, nursing in the middle of the night, sitz baths, skinny ankles (yours, not the baby’s), flannel receiving blankets, A&D Ointment, tiny perfect fingernails, impossibly small diapers, beanies, burps and footed sleepers.

We’ll be waiting by the phone...

The One Where Doris Goes After What She Wants

I have a friend. Let's call her Doris. We have these “old lady” names for each other. I can never remember if I am supposed to be Gladys or Doris. If your name actually is Gladys or Doris, my apologies (and sympathy) for calling them old lady names. Doris is the true definition of a BFF, because we have been friends for about 24 years, and even though we sometimes go two or three years without even talking, when we do talk, it is as though we just talked yesterday. If we were a sitcom, we would be “I Love Lucy,” and as much as I hate being the sidekick, I would have to be Ethel, because honestly, Doris is Lucy. And, like Lucy, Doris is a woman who knows what she wants, and is not afraid to go after it. I have always admired that.


We have traveled together to some pretty cool places. Once we flew to Boca Raton, Florida. We were staying at the Boca Raton Resort, which was pretty upscale for us home girls. I am not going to lie and say it was one of my favorite vacations, because I stopped nursing one of my babies in order to go on the five-day trip, and the combination of hormones gone awry, and missing my one-year-old was enough to make me uncharacteristically weepy. To make matters worse, everyone’s luggage arrived at the hotel in a timely manner...except for mine. (Cue the tears again) So Doris put her arm around me and said, “Don't you worry. They will be giving us all free bathrobes before I am done.” I did not actually get a free bathrobe (other than the use of the complimentary one in each room...which came in handy since I had no clothes...) but it was not because Doris didn't try. You should seriously hear her go toe to toe with hotel staff. It is a memorable experience.


All of our meals on that trip were included in the price of our stay. We had only to make reservations at one of the 14 restaurants on the resort. Lucy... *ahem*... DORIS, always gravitated toward the buffets... and brought her biggest purse, if you know what I mean. One morning we had reservations at a breakfast buffet, and after filling our plates, we were loading up on beverages. I was drinking orange juice, and Doris was determinedly leaning over velvet rope barriers to help herself to a clearly-off-limits drink spigot (she was probably after soda of some sort), but with no results...nothing would come out of the spout. Finally she summoned a waiter, indicated the offending beverage dispenser, and complained that it wasn't working. His reply has been my favorite line for these many years: “I’m sorry, ma’am. The thing is, we usually don't have much call for beer at breakfast.” I think the only tears I cried that day were from laughing so much.

So today for my 50th post, here's to friends old and new, tried and true...the Doris’ and the Gardenweasels in my life. Here's to blog friends, going after what you want, free bathrobes, and beer for breakfast.

Disclaimer: Being the good Mormon girls that we are, neither Doris nor I (Gladys) actually drink beer, either for breakfast or at any other time. That is the secret to our youthful beauty. If you want to know more about our beliefs, check out Mormon.org.