“So you’re going to be a grandmother. How do you feel?”
People have been asking me this question for the past several months. And always with a taunting smile.
Partly because I haven’t finished raising my own kids; partly because I’m the first of my circle of friends and colleagues to have a child “with child”; and partly because I myself haven’t finished growing up.
And what have I been answering all along?
“This isn’t about me.”
Last night at 11:46 p.m. my daughter, Stephanie, gave birth to her son.
Three weeks early.
6 lb 10 oz.
Born the same day as my own son, Jonathan, who turned 13 years old yesterday.
“This is the best birthday present EVER,” Jonathan said yesterday morning when I told him that Stephanie may have the baby on his birthday.
Today I got to spend some time with this new member of our family. And as I sat in the quiet solitude of my own freaked out reflection, I couldn’t help but think, “I’m a grandmother! A fricken GRANDMOTHER!”
While I recognize that this new, little life is not about me, but about my daughter’s transition into a new and exciting phase of her life – motherhood – it also represents a new phase in my life. One that I’ve been logically expecting (I suppose) but not really anticipating. I mean, when you have kids you don’t think, “gee, I’m going to be a grandmother one day.”
No. You think, “Oh my God. I have a kid!”
Confession: I don’t identify with any of the label choices for this new cycle in my life.
So I’ve decided to borrow some of my Romanian heritage and come up with my own.
Grandmother in Romanian is Bunica.
I am “Nica” – a shortened variation with a twist of not-quite-old-enough-to-be . . . um, well, OLD.
Welcome to the family Jayson Lee!