My first grandchild will turn four in two weeks, and that upcoming event has caused me to review the time that we have spent growing together, child and grandma.  But this weekend I also found myself reviewing something else entirely, the growth in my own daughter that has taken place during these four years.

When I was first told that I was about to become a grandparent, I envisioned a cuddly baby, hours spent in a rocking chair, singing quiet lullabies. Not entirely naive, since I raised four children, when pushed to do so I would acknowledge that yes, the sweet infant I was imagining might occasionally cry, mess diapers, and fingerpaint all over my dining room table.  This child would also eventually become a truculent toddler, a precocious preschooler, and ohmygod a straining-to-be-independent teenager. I didn’t care — I knew I would love my grandbaby every step of the way, just as I had loved . . . and still love . . . my own children, but differently.

What I didn’t imagine, however, not in my wildest dreams, was the joy I would feel as I watched my daughter, who before Bean’s birth had been a highly successful manager commuting an hour each day to work, becoming a Mother.  In the early weeks I watched with awe as this professional woman who I at times worried was too set in her ways, too aware of her own needs to cope with the 24 hour demands of a newborn child, emerged as if from a chrysalis displaying the nurturing and loving behavior of a much more experienced parent. But surely, I still worried, she would need lots of help to get through the challenges of the twos, the threes, the fours, and beyond.

Weeks turned into months and years, and Doña grew with every developmental stage Bean entered.  Her patience seemed endless; not without effort, she assures me, but to my mind she always managed to be gentle and understanding as she led her little one forward and through and over the challenges in her life, teaching her the ways of the world, the rules of the car, the dangers of the street, the manners of the dinner table and the limitations of the mall.  When tantrums would have set anyone’s teeth on edge, I watched her hold the writhing child next to her heart, murmuring comforting words and seeking to identify the emotion or the situation that was unhinging her usually happy little girl.

She did need help – I was correct about that – but it wasn’t parenting advice she needed, just a helping hand when illness struck, or the two of them had spent too many hours cooped up in the house on a rainy day, or when she had a deadline to meet.  And being able to ask for that help, I realize, is another measure of her maturity as a mother.  We worked out a schedule fairly early on, so that Bean always knew that twice a week she would have a whole afternoon of Grandma’s full attention, then added other times as needed, and eventually even sleepovers, a special treat for everyone involved.  I love the dedicated time each week with my granddaughter, and her mother uses the time to nurture herself, to paint, or write, or even take a walk or a bath or read a book.

This weekend we took Bean and a four year old friend to the Monterey Bay Aquarium (Bean calls it “Monteberry aquarium”), about an hour’s drive from our homes. You don’t need to be a grandparent to enjoy watching children learning in such a rich environment, but it helps.  On previous trips to the aquarium I have been the responsible adult and very conscious of that role as Bean and I entered crowded viewing areas or traversed (usually running) the long bridge, the fascinating escalator, or the crowded elevator.  But this time I was a guest, and I got to watch.

What I saw was a mother at her best.  Teaching, playing, guiding, sharing giggles and discoveries, and always, always, watching out for danger.  Daddy was present too, and I don’t want to belittle his part in the parenting of this little girl, but my eyes were on my daughter.  I am having such fun, being a grandmother, getting to know my daughter in a whole new way while at the same time being allowed to participate in the life of her family.

I have been talking to other grandparents lately, trying to understand how their families are growing and adjusting to the birth and growth of children.  What role do you play in your grandchildren’s lives, or what role do your parents play in the lives of your children?  What do you remember as your own grandparents’ place in the family, and role in your childhood?  What issues have come up for you?  How have you solved them?

I hope that you’ll post a comment below (your email address will remain completely private, and goes only to me) and that we can start a conversation on this blog that will help each of us understand new ways in which we can contribute to  the development of the next generation.