I knew my newly-married daughter wouldn't waste much time before going after her dream of becoming a mom (she is my daughter, after all) but her warp-speed leap from newlywed to expectant mother caught everyone, including me, by surprise. Honeymoon babies were part of my parents' generation not the planned parenthood generation, right?
After the initial shock wore off, the excitement started to set in. I was going to be a grandma. I was going to have the sweet pleasure of watching my baby have a baby. I was going to get the chance to hold a little one that would be part of, maybe even look like, my own child. Better yet, I wasn't going to have to get up in the middle of the night, deal with a mountain of dirty diapers or worry about how I was going to pay for someone's college.
No. This time, I'm going to know the joy of having a baby for a weekend; a baby I can love like crazy and send home on Sunday night. My daughter and her husband will do most of the heavy lifting and I'll get to relish in the glow of being my grandchild's favorite person on earth. (What can I say? I dream big.) I might even find out what it feels like to love, cuddle and spoil a tiny human being without worrying that everything I do is scarring him/her for life.
This is going to be fun.
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