“There is no greater joy than becoming grandparents.” And even before our daughter’s wedding bouquet had time to dry, that’s exactly what every grandparent told me. And they hoped it would happen for us sooner than later. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I love my own children more than life itself, how different could grandchildren possibly be? When they are born I’ll love them with the same joy and adulation, worry and concern as my own. Wrong.
You will think they are beyond perfection. The sun will rise and set on them. You will let them do everything you never let your own children do. Our generation felt babies belonged in their cribs. I am beyond delighted to have our little ones cuddle up in bed with us. Nothing but organic passes their lips. Our kids lived on Burger King and McDonald’s. We read our children one or two books before bed and a lullaby. There are unlimited books and lullabies, often resulting in some rousing show tunes, until they fall asleep in our arms.
Time is fleeting, and moments with our grandchildren are precious. Laundry and dishes can wait. Because one day they will walk into the house, holler, “Hi Gaga and Papa,” and out the door they will go. And that is why it is a grandparents prerogative to let those cherubs wrap us around their chubby little fingers. It’s not that we don’t know it, it’s that we know they won’t be little forever.
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