I’m an Emmy.  No, not the award.  This is what my grandson has chosen to call me and I have chosen to allow it.  My mother is a granny.  She has been a granny since she was 34 years old, and that has always been fine with her.  All three of my sisters are grandmas.  They seem to be happy with that.  I know at least one of them was at least somewhat surprised, since she was introduced to her grandchild after it was a year old…but she recovered with grace and quiet dignity.  Currently three of the little monsters rule her life and she is as “happy as a hog in a waller.”  (for those of you who don’t speak hick….a waller is a wallow)  In addition, I have one sister who has waited far too long to be a grandma, and she wouldn’t care if the little darling called her a drippy douche bag as long as it was her grandchild saying it.  The remaining sister has six grandchildren and the poor thing just doesn’t have much of a mind left at all.  She’s deaf as a post, which is probably the only thing saving her, and has one of her grandkids almost every weekend.

I didn’t think I wanted to be a grandparent.  I encouraged my children to not take parenting lightly.  Over and over I explained that once that seed had germinated they were locked in for life.  With every argument, I made my point.  I spoke of the expense…the doctor’s bills, daycare, and miscellaneous other things that would keep them from ever experiencing quiet again.  I even told my son he might have to give up hunting.  (GASP!!) Almost exactly 25 months ago my son announced that they were expecting.  Not my daughter-in-law.  She was so convinced I would hate her she had locked herself in the bathroom.  Let me tell you,  I did some back peddaling that night.  I still was pretty convinced I wasn’t going to be a grandma in the same sense my sisters were, but I knew just like every other road I had taken, I would forge my own path.

Seven months later I was in the delivery room with my son and daughter (because she is my daughter just not my vaj daughter…as my vaj daughter says) as they made me an Emmy. I saw my sons tears stream down his face as  he saw his son for the first time.  I saw this new family commit to one anther there in that hospital room as they kissed first each other and then the new life held between them.  At that moment,  I knew that even if I never was his grandma (and I’m not) this little boy would know above all else that he was exquisitely and totally loved.

I walked outside that doot that night to tell my husband and my parents that the torch had been passed.  I had seen my son become a father.  He is a fine one too.  He often complains that he hears my words come out of his mouth when he is parenting.  I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.  Shortly after the baby  was born his paternal great-grandmother passed away.  She had been sick for a very long time, but she had seen and held her first great grandson before her passing.  The pride in her eyes was so obvious…it was just lovely to see.  Then nine months after that we lost my Dad, but there had been yet another baby born in our family.  The sister who so desperately wanted to be a grandmother got her wish.

I don’t know why I’m so melancholy today.  The grandbaby was here tonight and he is a house on fire.  He is eighteen months old and can’t be still.  His Boppy (grandfather) is his favorite person in the world and he yells for him about every two seconds.  He thinks all the toys should be dumped out of the toy box…so they are.  He eats marshmallows and oreos for dinner and plays the antique piano with his sticky little fingers.  Mostly whatever he does just amuses us, we’re not stupid enough to let him stay over night unless it’s an absolute necessity.  We do require a notarized document from a source other than his parents.   We do say no when his life is in danger.  Mostly we figure if we let him run wild doing whatever he pleases they won’t be in a hurry to leave him.  Truth is they don’t much.  They think he’s just as cute as we do and almost as cute as he think he is.  I knew he and I were going to have a special relationship the first time I picked him up in my convertible and he wanted the top down.  He knows that I am way to cool to be a Grandma and way, way, way, to cool to be a granny. He probably also knows I’m a pushover.  I thought I wanted to be an “M” but he knew better.  He took one look at me and knew I was going to be his Emmy.  So that’s what I am.  I thought just this once I could name myself, but I was wrong….and I couldn’t care less. 

No Comments »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URL

Leave a comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.