While I am growing in Mexico, my newest grandchild is growing in Louisiana.
His mother almost killed me. Literally. Both of us would have died in another place or time.
She liked the womb so much she didn’t want to come out. Complications developed. A Cesarean section ensued. Two weeks in the NICU followed.
The next four months were the most intense months of my life. Friends and family reading this will affirm: I was a basket case. So was she. She screamed. I walked the floor with her. Her dad danced with her. For hours. We memorized all the lyrics to the B52s Good Stuff album because she seemed to be calmed by it.
Or maybe we were.
And now, she has a son.
She went to the house the other day to get a baby sling and the “baby book” which contains the record of her infancy. I haven’t looked at it in years, but she sent me photos of my notes (with tearful emojis).
I had forgotten the notes. I have not forgotten the torturous urgency I felt when she was an infant to fix whatever it was that was wrong with her.
Her baby is fussy sometimes. I know that in these moments, she feels as I did when she was a baby. I understand and I feel it all again. I want to be there with her, walking the floor with him, rocking him, singing to him, dancing to the B52s and Joe Cocker.
I see photos and videos, but it’s not like being there. Skype is a blessing, but I feel awful, like a terrible mom, because I am not there.
And at the same time, I have complete faith in her. Her child is thriving. She is making choices as a mom to put her child’s needs before her own. She’s making parenting choices that benefit her son now and will benefit him his entire life. I know that she will continue to make excellent choices for him for as long as he is her responsibility.
I can’t wait to meet you in person, Anderson. Your Granmama sends you love love love.