A Mother, a Daughter..and the Grandson That Changed Everything

On this day, in 1980, I became a mother. I was twenty-two, a college graduate, and I had been married for over a year. We went to a midnight showing of Close Encounters and afterward, over a Fudge-ana (like a fudge sundae with bananas..complete nirvana)at the Plush Pippin, I announced that I would be having the baby that day. I wasn’t in labor yet, but I knew. Around 4am, the back labor began. I thought, oh great..bet the little bugger is breech. So much for the childbirth classes. Sure enough, that’s what was happening. My doctor wasn’t even there. It was his day off. His partner delivered our son in the afternoon. Given his attention to the football game on the television in the father’s waiting room, I was actually surprised the doctor bothered to show up. But he did, and next thing I knew, there was my beautiful James.

Babies born by cesarean section are pretty because they’re heads aren’t misshapen through natural childbirth. His hips were a little loose because of his position, so we triple diapered him for a couple of weeks and then his hip sockets were fine. All of this ended up being to his advantage as I believe it helped his future martial arts skills, both in Kenpo and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, not to mention foot-bag.

I was sent away from the hospital once because my labor hadn’t progressed enough. We went to my mother’s home to wait and so that my husband could have some breakfast. My mother was upset that I wasn’t eating. I explained that I was in labor (she’d experienced that twice) and that I wasn’t supposed to eat. Besides, she had put at least an entire box of salt on the scrambled eggs and, had I eaten any, childbirth probably would have been the least of my concerns. My husband, however, shut up and ate everything on his plate. My mother was having a difficult time becoming a grandmother. Why, I don’t know. I would be thrilled if I had grandchildren. She would say to anyone who would listen, my daughter is having a baby, but I’m not becoming a grandmother. Predictable, given the fact that she wasn’t happy that I was married either. Apparently, I was on my own.

Sadly enough for my mother, I breastfed James, which drove her nuts. Breastfed kids have loose stools, which always seem to escape the diaper when you have nothing to change into. It was messy for everyone concerned. My mother decided that I should use diaper liners in an effort to “save” my diapers. Now, imagine a sweeping hand gesture while saying that and you get the idea. For giggles, I actually used one and let her see what happens when you combine loose stools with what resembles tissue paper. The look on her face was priceless. She was instantly certain that something was wrong with my child. Oh, there was something wrong, just not with my child.

Then the most amazing thing happened. Well, not for the Queen of Denial. I shouldn’t have been surprised at all. When we would visit my mother, I would baby-proof everything, all while she would follow along behind me undoing everything as I did it. She refused to let me install child-proof locks on her cabinets. She decided that HER grandson would never get into anything he wasn’t supposed to. And there it was. She was going to demand the same level of perfection out of my children that she demanded from me. It was clear that I could never let her babysit. Never. As soon as that thought entered my mind, my mother’s voice saying “never say never” overrode that. A couple of years later, after our second child was born, we finally let her babysit both boys as well as the dog. I called her from the movie theater only to find, according to Grandma, that both boys were destroying her home as was the dog. The boys were 3 and 1..the dog..I have no idea. She said that while the dog and the oldest were toppling over her planter, the youngest was climbing up on the back of the couch, trying to get at the clock on the wall. To this day, James tells a much different story, one that I actually believe.

We lived 150 miles away from her at this time. We drove all that way so that we could have a date night and we’d have someone we trusted to take care of the kids. We weren’t having much luck where we lived finding adequate child care, so we took the kids everywhere. It was her idea, after all, to come down there. I tried to warn her about how active the boys were. Essentially, they were monkeys. I fail to see how any of this was actually my fault. As far as I’m concerned, this is what denial gets you. Things were so much more clear after that. Grandma had a very necessary epiphany. She finally understood that although the boys were, in reality, very well behaved, they were also extremely curious and intelligent. And if they thought they could double team you, they’d do it. This didn’t make them bad kids, and she didn’t have to be worried about them. They were just more savvy than their grandmother. I really didn’t see why their father and I should have to be alone in that experience.

Mom didn’t get to see the boys grow into adults. She died in 1996 from COPD and congestive heart failure. She had been a smoker, and quit ten years earlier. However, it wasn’t soon enough. The damage was done. In 1992, she had to retire and died a month before her 66th birthday. She moved to our area a year before so that we could be there for her. By that time, the boys were homeschooling and doing so well. Both now have college degrees and are working in their chosen fields. Had she lived, she would have been so proud of them.

The day she died, I took James with me to check on her. She was on oxygen, so when I called and didn’t reach her, I wasn’t concerned. I didn’t expect her to run to the phone. But a couple of hours later, I called again, and there was still no answer. So we drove to her house and found that she had passed, most likely earlier that morning. And I was so unbelievably proud of James. He was fifteen, but so centered. My little rock. As we waited for the police and my husband to arrive, he was calm, strong, and so kind.

A few days later, James told me that his grandmother came to him in a dream. Almost as if she was thanking him for being there. We had come full circle. A  woman who wasn’t sure she wanted to be a grandmother was checking in on the child who was there at both the beginning and the end. Such a blessing!

So Happy Birthday, James. We began this adventure 34 years ago today. You have taught us more than we could have ever learned on our own. You are our first child, the first grandchild and you are so loved!