Thursday, June 9, 2011
No wonder that event of welcoming her first grandchild may have come with some angst.
My mom was in a new season. She had finally gotten all of us out of the house and successfully ensconced in college and grad school and marriages and careers. She was back in the work-a-day world and able to drink a Diet Dr. Pepper without one of her offspring coming to take a sip out of her glass.
We used to drive her crazy with that. Always wanting a sip of whatever she was quaffing. It always seemed to taste better than your standard Diet Dr. Pepper.
So here she was, new season, new career, new freedoms.
And then I went and awakened that sleeping giant in her called Mother Instinct.
Or Grandmother Instinct, as it were.
She bonded with 1 of 8. Deeply. Purely.
And all the elements of her new season, while interesting and stimulating and fun, took a pale backseat to cementing a relationship with 1 of 8.
And then 2 of 8. And then 3 of 8. And so forth. And so on.
My mom is now a grandmother to 15 grandchildren.
(Not to be competitive, my Dear Brothers. But, ah, I'm outpacing you. Just sayin'.)
And part of what is so beautiful to me is how each grandchild brings out a new aspect of that Grandmother Instinct. Each grandchild has their special place in her heart and unique relationship.
But then, of course, my mom at this point is a pro.
A professional grandmother.