Me? A Gramma?? At 32???

Yup, yup, and OMG yup! Ok some of you are probably thinking "What the hell?!?" but there IS a logical explanation to me being a Gramma at 32. I am a step gramma for one thing. Daniel is 17 years older than I am, and his oldest daughter is 18 now (yes the lil one's momma). So no, my 12 year old daughter, or my 5 year old daughter have not started reproducing exceptionally early (though much to my 5 year old's dismay, she now believes she needs to have a girl to keep her nephew company **SIGH**).

Now my relationship with my oldest stepdaughter is rocky. She lived with us for a couple of years, and she pulled quite a few stunts that ended with me looking like a butcher block from the backside. I vowed to keep her at bay until she recognized what she did was wrong, and apologized for that. Know what? That's kinda out the window now. I'm not sure I have forgiven her for all the grief she caused me and her father, but I am speaking to her some now. Not much mind you, but some, and I guess that's progress. I can't and won't say I trust her, because I don't. She IS still her Mother's daughter, and I have to stay guarded to that. We are in the middle of a custody battle with her and her younger sister's mother for custody of her younger sister. I refuse to jeopardize that in an "effort" to see if I can trust the oldest daughter. The younger one doesn't want to live with her Mother, and I won't be the one to screw up and be the reason she has to. Furthermore, I know if I am not careful, she will yank that baby away from me and at this point in time, I just don't think I could take that. I have lost alot in the last few weeks, I refuse to let my big mouth get the best of me and give her reason to hurt me again. I am remaining civil and friendly to her (even to the point of having her Dad tell her if she needs/wants to move home (ie back in with us) she can, my Grandson's father is a gigantic walking dick, need I say more?).

As for my Grandson **insert colossal grin** he's a small bundle of joy. Ya I know, it's not very creative, but it's the truth. Such tiny little fingers and toes, and a cry that well it's more a squeak to me as I have a 5 year old that throws screaming hissy fits more often than I would like to admit. I forgot just how teeny tiny their lil fingers and toes were till I clipped his fingernails and toenails the other night when they were over. His parents were scared to, afraid they would cut one off. Daniel was scared shitless she'd let her Mother do it, as I guess with one of the girls she DID cut the tip of one of their fingers off trimming their fingernails once. Dgs's (dear grandson) Dad was at work, and his Mom was in the other room watching a movie with the rest of the kids, and I was watching over the lil guy. He fell asleep to me rocking him to sleep as I played the Wii (tell you anything about what kinda Mom/Gramma I am? :D). After he fell into a sound slumber cradled in my lap, I unswaddled him and gave him a manicure and pedicure, complete with filing of all the sharp little edges, that would leave any modern starlet in the dust. It's been a long time since I have done that, and to be totally honest... I don't miss it a bit. It's one thing to do it to my dgs, but I don't want to do the Mommy thing again. I have 3 children of my own, and 3 stepchildren. I've had my fill to say the least. I love all my children, but I tell them regularly the only reason I don't strangle them some days is I want to be old and grey and surrounded by grandchildren on my back deck as I sit in my rocking chair. My 14 year old son laughs at me when I say this, but I don't think he realizes just how much I mean that.

After my own Gramma passing on St Patrick's Day, this little guy was what I needed to pull me out of the depths of my despair. I got the call that she was in labor the following Thursday, but convinced that she was going to not let me be a part of this baby's life, I dismissed it. A part of me desperately hoped that she wouldn't do that, but the rest of me was fully convinced she would. I got the call just shortly after midnight Friday morning from Daniel that I was a gramma. I was estatatic, but I was leaving the following day to go to Iowa for my Gramma's funeral. I silently cursed the timing, but was thankful at the same time. I needed a diversion, good or bad, from the reality of what had happened. I fell asleep a happy woman that morning. I didn't sleep long as I needed to go do some errands, and while I was gone, Daniel called me. They were bringing the baby over to the house before I went to to work that night. Shocked me to the core when he informed me "so you can see him...they know you have to leave tomorrow, and know your dying to see the lil fella.". I could have fainted right there in Wal-Mart parking lot. I didn't though, but I was in a serious daze after he told me that. I hurried up and did what I had to do and scurried home. I had planned to take a nap before work after I got home, but that was impossible not knowing when they were going to be there. I got partially ready for work and paced the floor waiting for them. Daniel just laughed at my apprehension, but when I growled at him to quit bugging me, he scurried out the door as he knew my nerves were shot. They finally arrived and I stole the car seat and put it on my computer chair (and I let NOBODY sit in my chair, it's MINE), and uncovered him. He was so tiny, so perfect, and *GASP* she was gonna let me be GRAMMA! I took a few pictures then I had to get him out of that contraption. As I took him out, I noticed how light he was. Now a 7 pound baby is a "normal" size baby, but considering my "baby" now weighs 50 pounds, it was kinda a shock. He cuddled right up to me and promptly fell asleep. I walked around, beaming a smile that would put the sun to shame, holding my grandson. After a bit he became fussy, and we went straight to the rocking chair. I swaddled him back up after I had him all cuddled up to me and we rocked. Quietly, gently, we rocked. It seemed like time stopped. Amazing how one so teeny could wipe away all my pain. Tears flowed again, but instead of heartbreak, they were tears of joy as I prayed to God that I was as wonderful a Gramma as the one I had just lost was to me.

Saturday, the next day, they came out again before I left. I lost 2 hours of prime traveling time due to having to cuddle with dgs, but it was a well spent 2 hours. We laid on my bed a good portion of that, him wide awake, and me just babbling to him. What I said, I can't honestly recall to be honest, but I'm sure it was ok with him. He made funny faces at me, and I just watched, cuddled, kissed, hugged, and loved on him as I was going to be gone for at least a week. Again I cursed the timing, but knew I had to go. I tried to convince his parents that they needed a break, to let me take him with but go figure, they refused. They were sure I was going to smuggle him out in my suitcase so as I finished packing they kept an eagle's watch on me. As I waited for my youngest step daughter to pack to go with me, and the guys to pack the trunk of the car, we again went to the rocking chair. Time stopped again for me as I watched him sleep and give his binky a through workout. Little did I know that would be our last time to rock in that rocking chair.

As I made that long trip home for my Gramma's funeral, something struck me. While I had lost my Gramma, I had in turn gained a Grandson. Was that God's way of taking the sting away from the pain I was feeling over my loss? His way of showing me that he takes nothing away from us without giving us something just as precious? I will never know the answer to that I'm sure, but I have learned a lesson through all of this to be sure. Never EVER take anyone special in your life for granted, for they can be taken away in a blink of an eye.

The best way I can describe my Gramma's influence on me is akin to Simba and Mufasa in The Lion King. As a child, I followed my Gramma every opportunity I was given to. As an adult, I looked to her for guidance. Now that she's gone, I still feel her with me, a silent yet powerful guiding hand in my life. I look up at the stars when doubts and questions fill my mind, and think "How would Gramma have handled it? What would Gramma do?". Somewhere deep in me, I know the answers, and when I follow them, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace and serenity. I want my Grandson (and all my subsequent grandbabies) to see my Gramma in me. I want them to learn from me the way I learned from her. I want them to love me just as deeply as I love her. That is my hope, my dream, my goal for the future.