Lori Borgman - What Happens at Grandmas Stays at Grandmas: Stories That Celebrate the Joy and Chaos of Grandparenting

HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

EUGENE, OREGON

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Cover design by Kyler Dougherty

lnterior design by Rockwell Davis

Hand Lettering by Jessica Ballestrazze

What Happens at Grandmas Stays at Grandmas

Copyright 2021 by Good Cheer Publishing

Published by Harvest House Publishers

Eugene, Oregon 97408

www.harvesthousepublishers.com

ISBN 978-0-7369-8340-2 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-0-7369-8341-9 (eBook)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Borgman, Lori, author.

Title: What happens at grandmas stays at grandmas : stories that celebrate the joy and chaos of grandparenting / Lori Borgman.

Description: Eugene, Oregon : Harvest House Publishers, [2021] | Summary: In What Happens at Grandmas Stays at Grandmas, Lori shares tender and amusing vignettes of grandparenting. She treasures each second of joy and chaos that her family creates and encourages readers to do the same- Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020029517 (print) | LCCN 2020029518 (ebook) | ISBN 9780736983402 (cloth) | ISBN 9780736983419 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: GrandmothersAnecdotes. | GrandparentingAnecdotes. | GrandparentingHumor.

Classification: LCC HQ759.9 .B675 2021 (print) | LCC HQ759.9 (ebook) | DDC 306.874/5dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020029517

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020029518

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For the Grands

Love always

I was confident Id never go as bonkers as other women did when they became grandmothers. You know the onesthey see you at the grocery, whip out their cell phones, pin you against a wall of pasta, and force you to look at picture after picture of their grandbabies. Meanwhile, your mocha fudge ice cream melts, and the deli potato salad grows warm and sprouts botulism.

The truth is, Im not really a small baby person. Preverbal creatures that communicate by crying have always put me on edge. When I was expecting, the books said not to worry because, as the mother, I would be able to distinguish one cry from another. The books lied. To this day, when a newborn wails, I feel perplexed.

Stop crying and just tell me what you want. Talk to me. Move your lips. Anything. Ill figure it out. Just try! Diaper? You want a new diaper? Ill get you a new diaper. No? It wasnt the diaper? Please talk. I know you cant talk, but listen: I can get you a crayon, and you can draw a picture of what you want. Ill even let you draw on the wall. Just help me. No? What then? Youre hungry? Great! Well feed you. So, that wasnt it either. You werent hungry? Then what? Please talk to me. Try talking to me with your eyes. Blink once for yes and twice for no. I think Im getting something. Four legs and a tail? Neigh! You want a pony? Fine! Ill get you a pony!

Due to my limited abilities as a baby whisperer, I figured Id be one cool cucumber when the grandbaby arrived. After all, its not like we were becoming parents. We would take a back seat now. We would be second string, the B team.

Then it happened. Our son called midmorning and matter-of-factly said they were going to the hospital. A few text updates straggled in during the afternoon saying progress was slow. We packed our bags, preparing to leave the next morning. Finally, at 11:30 p.m., the call came. The wait was over. It was a baby girl. Momma and baby were both fine.

We fell into bed exhausted. Vicarious long-distance labor and delivery had been a lot more tiring than we had anticipated. The next morning, we hopped into the car and sped to Chicago to meet our first grandbaby.

I noted what good time we had made as the new grandpa left skid marks wheeling into a parking spot at the hospital. We hurriedly got directions at the front desk, sprinted down a hallway, caught an elevator to the third floor, dashed down another hallway, took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door.

Our son stood leaning against a windowsill, holding a newborn swaddled in a soft, white blanket with pink and blue stripes. The tiny bundle was topped with a white stocking cap. The delicate profile of a newborn protruded above soft folds in the blanket.

Our son was a father. The completely obvious was completely stunning.

Our daughter-in-law was radiant. She emitted the glow of motherhood. It agreed with her. It agreed with our son, too, but his was the glow of fatherhood. Or maybe it was a light sweat from anxiety.

They were both totally over the moon, enthralled and enraptured with their beautiful newborn. Bits and pieces slowly floated back to me. We had been over the moon too. The marvel and wonder of new life take your breath away.

The new momma and papa looked so young, so wide-eyed and dewy. What were they? Ten and twelve? Nah, they were in their midtwenties. Had we been that young?

We had. Even younger.

They were completely inexperienced.

So were we.

They seemed to be naturalsat ease with the baby, moving in tandem with a fluid motion.

Our son handed the baby to me. It was so light and softlike cradling a bundle of feathers. Its a different dimension when the baby you hold is your grandchild and not your own child. Because youre not the first line of defense, you relax more, take it all in more, savor it moreeach flutter of the eyelids, each rise and fall of that tiny little chest.

When she cries, you wont be the one struggling to determine what she needs. It will be her parents job to discover she wants a pony. As a grandparent, your job is to absorb it all, to be swept up in the wonder and marvel of a new life and the start of another generation.

The start of the next generation had mesmerized me with her delicate hands and button nose. This small being had smitten me. I was completely in her power. All I could think of was how I could never let this precious bundle go. Maybe I was going to be as bonkers as all the other grandmas. It would probably only be a matter of time before I pinned someone down in the grocery with pictures on my cell phone. Maybe I wouldnt even wait til the grocery. Maybe Id pin someone down in the hospital on our way out.

She was so precious. So sweet.