Reflections of a Middle Aged....Grandma

Grandma...nana...memaw...granny...is there any way to become a grandmother without somehow also becoming 'old'? 


After receiving the news that our son and daughter-in-law are expecting their first baby next summer, my husband happily staked claim to the name, 'gramps'.  Seriously, 'gramps'??  How old are you?  Like 90? When I hear 'gramps', I picture a little old man with a bushy mustache and a walking stick, maybe sporting a pair of bib overalls or orthopedic shoes.  I certainly don't envision my 42 year old husband, who I happen to think still looks mighty fine and who, I'm fairly certain, would never wear bibs.


Somehow I thought we would have more time before we had to cross this particular bridge.  I at least thought our own nest would be empty before our kids started adding little birdies to their nests.  


I thought when grandparenthood became our reality, we would be older, grayer and more on top of our own lives.  I guess the truth is, 41 is older than I like to believe, and were it not for the help of Miss Clairol, I definitely would be grayer.  


As for being on top of things, here I feel like life is just beginning to settle down.  We are getting to a place where things just seem...easier.  We are hitting a nice stride...moving along at a comfortable pace.  We are, after 23 years of marriage, beginning to see the possibility of being 'just us' again.  


Not that we are pushing our own last little birdie out of the nest just yet, but we definitely are beginning to accept that our days as 'mommy and daddy' are numbered.  And making the move from parents of littles to parents of bigs is one we are fully prepared...even happy...to make.  


But grandkids?  Who saw that coming so soon?  "Not I", said the middle aged mom.  I do not feel like a grandma.  I do not look a nana.  I am not aptly prepared to be a mamaw.  I haven't a clue how to move from here to there.  


I have a friend with a grandson and two more grandchildren on the way who cannot believe I am not already over the moon at the prospect of having a grandbaby.  She assures me I will be.  I'm sure she's right.  After all, any child of my child is sure to steal my heart.  


So after mulling it over, I staked my claim to the name, 'MiMi'.  I don't think 'Mimi' sounds too old.  I think I could be a 'Mimi'.  After all, a 'Mimi' wouldn't wear a duster dress and keep her teeth in a cup...would she?  Well not this 'Mimi' anyway.  :-)

Cutting the Cord

I vividly remember the day my twin sons were born.  I know how I felt...both the joy and the pain.  I can clearly recall the events of the entire day, from the moment my water broke to the moment I first held each of them in my arms.  One thing I don't remember, however, is the cutting of the cord. I mean, I remember the doctor telling me it was happening, but I don't remember how it felt.  For me, it was utterly painless and held no long-term significance.  What I didn't realize then is that it wasn't the literal cords that would be tough to cut.

This year as been one of great stretching and testing...and cord cutting.  As my eldest twin got engaged, married and announced he and his wife are expecting, I felt the deep stabbing pain of having to let go before I was ready.  With precision, he sliced his way into adulthood with seemingly fearless abandon.  He didn't ask for permission, and he didn't ask for help.  He just took the leap and dove right into a life all his own.  When he cut the cord, it may not have been the painless procedure the doctor had performed when he was a newborn, but it certainly was quick.

While I wasn't thrilled about it in the moment, now I'm convinced his way was ultimately the best way to do it.  I say that because now I am faced with the opposite end of the spectrum with Son #2.  

Son #2 has no interest in having his cord cut.  He is seemingly content to stay in some kind of suspended state of adolescence.  He doesn't have any urgency about growing up and getting on with his adult life.  He is hanging on with all his might while I saw at the cord with the dull butter knife that is motherly nagging.

It isn't that he doesn't have aspiration of a grown up life.  He is, in fact, engaged to be married and in the beginning stages of planning to make a life with his fiance.  What he isn't is realistic.  He wants to keep one foot in his youth while only stroking the edge of adulthood.  He is trying to find a way to hang on to the carefree, worry free, trouble free life he has enjoyed to this point while at the same time trying to muster the courage to step off the edge of the cliff that real life can be.  

I understand his apprehension.  After all, life is a complicated game we all play where sometimes we win and sometimes we lose...and the rules are always changing...and the stakes keep going up.  But it's also an exciting, whirlwind ride where we find love, happiness and our passion.  Being out on our own is when we go from crawling to walking and then hopefully to running the race like a champion.  It's when we discover who we really are and what's really important in life.

When we're young, the whole world is contained within the walls of our parents' house, the halls of our high school and the fences around playgrounds and ball fields...and all those places are wonderful.  But when we step outside of that, we are introduced to the whole wide world.  We find endless possibilities.  We discover limitless potential.  We are opened up to brand new opportunities we never even knew existed.  And we realize, maybe for the first time, those things were always there...somewhere inside us, hidden beneath the baby fat of childhood.  

So as my son struggles to strap on his parachute and prepare for the flight of his life, I firmly and steadily push him toward the door.  Not because I don't love him or don't want him to stay here with his father and I, but because I do love him.  And because I love him, I want him to experience all this life has for him.  I want him to feel the thrill of being independent...the pride of accomplishment...the kind of contentment that comes from knowing one has earned what he has.  I want him to step out of the shadow of the boy and be the man I know he can be.  I want him, when this life is at it's end, to look back and be able to say he's lived it well...that he wouldn't change anything...and that it's been a wild and wonderful ride.

I love you Zachary.  Always have...always will.  Now jump!!