I Want to be a Grandmother!
When I was a child my greatest desire in life was to become a mother. Not a nurse or flight attendant like my peers. Just “Mommy.” After my kids grew up I longed for another title—Grandmother.
My oldest son, however, did not see “grand-motherhood” as a worthy goal. But when Aaron married a sweet, Catholic young lady from Iowa, I was certain those grandbabies were on the way. After all, in the era in which I grew up, most families of the Catholic faith had several children so I pictured a passel of grandkids running around my house.
I figured two years of wedded bliss were sufficient before presenting me with a grandbaby, but it didn’t happen. Four years came and went and still no grandchildren. After five years zipped by I cut out an article from the newspaper about a group of nuns who would pray for any request. Yep, I wanted them to pray for babies. However, my daughter-in-law, Amy, did not share my enthusiasm and reminded me that she knew far more nuns than I did.
After eight years rolled by I began to underline verses in my Bible like, “You will see your children’s children,” wondering how old I would be when that happened. Ten years had flown by when Aaron and Amy came to our house one warm September day, bearing gifts. That was strange. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday. Aaron said we just deserved a little gift. Who would argue with that? My husband and I opened our gift bags. At the same time I pulled out a bib saying, “I love Grandma,” he presented one with, “I love Grandpa.”
Hard to believe, but I actually puzzled over this a few seconds. (The years had slowed my thinking.) Then it hit me—really hit me! I looked into two smiling faces and screamed at the top of my lungs. They were pregnant! I was going to be a grandmother!
The next months were filled with everything “baby.” I purchased the book Amy was reading so I could follow along on the development. Aaron e-mailed an ultrasound picture with one blurry portion marked, “girl parts.” It’s a girl! I accompanied them to a second ultrasound and saw her precious profile—something I had never seen with my own babies.
Then one beautiful May morning, just one month short of Aaron and Amy’s eleventh wedding anniversary, I stood outside the hospital nursery snapping pictures of my brand new granddaughter and my son. Aaron touched little Alexandria tenderly and sang to her when she cried. I nearly cried too. Alex, however, stopped wailing and turned her face toward her daddy.
I snapped Amy’s picture as she came out of surgery, having had a C-section. She had never looked so beautiful. An hour later I held my granddaughter for the very first time. My soul sang when I held this tiny baby girl. Oh, how beautiful she was. She looked at me. She must know I’m her grandmother, I thought. Wonder what she will call me. It didn’t matter.
Then miracle of miracles, two and one-half years later, I stood outside that same nursery window snapping pictures of my newborn grandson, whose mass of dark curls delighted his big sister and grandmother. Then an hour later, little Axton snuggled into my arms and my heart, just as his sister had done.
Alexandria is now three years old and Axton is nearing his first birthday. They have forever captured my heart and were well worth the wait. God’s timing is always on target and my new title of “Grammi-Lu” fits