Premature Granding

Old people.  I really never planned on being one. Unfortunately it happens without your consent and in my case it officially happened four weeks ago, the day my oldest daughter Cheyenne turned me into the "G" word.

G-G-G Grandmother.

Honestly, it still stings to say it. My ears ring and my vision worsens and the only thing that makes it feel better is holding my new grand baby. And frankly, when this little baby is near, in the swirl of my new Senior-ity, it's actually pretty sweet--just don't tell anyone I said that.

My Premature Granding began with a phone call. Chey rang to say the doctors had decided to induce her labor two weeks early because she was showing signs of pre-eclampsia. As a result, Mark began running around the house groaning with his own set of pains which he then described as an acute case of  pre-GRAMPsia. (Good one honey.) With one phone call I suddenly found myself packing up my car and heading south, literally and figuratively. I was officially becoming old. And I actually had to get in my car and drive to it--my official old-ness. After 10 hours speeding my way to a far off delivery room, narrowly escaping the mother of all traffic tickets, I arrived in time for the big moment.

Little baby Kendra was born. 7lbs. 4oz. 19-inches.

This grandmother thing, it's terrible. It's turned me into a complete and utter sap. I coo, and fuss, and even occasionally talk baby talk. It's totally pathetic...and yet absolutely wonderful all at the same time. Who knew?

While I held this tiny little girl, somewhere in a glorious intoxication of new baby smell, a small hushed whimper, and a loud boisterous baby burp (a belch that completely outmatched her size), I realized something.  This grandma gig ain't that bad after all.  It was then that I had a vision--albeit a blurry grab-your-reader-glasses kinda vision--but a vision nonetheless. I began to picture a whole new me. Far from the pragmatics of parenthood, being a grandparent allows you to loosen up a bit. Bedtimes, well-rounded meals, these things aren't my problem. The whole idea of breaking all the rules from regular parenting and spoiling the child rotten has real appeal.    An evil grin spread across my face and I realized I could do this grandmother thing. Like Michelangelo painting the Pope's ceiling, this could be my greatest work.

With that thought in mind I decided that from day one this little baby and I were gonna have some fun. And although we spent the first couple of weeks with poor little Kendra in the NICU (which would explain my long neglected and barren blog) I didn't let it stop me from enjoying my new found calling: Gregarious Grandma.

 For the first few days Kendra had to wear an eye mask...

...so I stole a Sharpie off the nurses desk and made it prettier,

then I told everyone she gets her eyes from her grandma:

And when they finally let her wear clothes, 

I fished through the NICU's pile of onesies and

decided she needed something adventurous to wear:

Any baby girl can look cute and precious,

but I thought she should sport a little attitude.

Soon I became known as "that grandmother" amongst the nurses. But I left a little levity in an otherwise gloomy hospital, and little baby Kendra and I were having as much fun as you could possibly have with a PIC line in your head.

Happily little Kendra has been paroled from the hospital and is healthy and dreamy as ever. And me? I'm finally back home and indulging in my new found hobby: Unorthodox Grandma.