Why grandparenting is a second chance
How could I forget just how full-on it is looking after a baby? It wasn't that long ago, surely, I was run ragged looking after a toddler and a baby, yet managing to fit it all in – juggling the day job, the other family demands, the finances, the social life? Without any of those distractions now, looking after a baby should be a doddle.
But of course I hadn't factored in what we now fondly call "baby time". Baby time means you're totally absorbed in feeding, burping, changing nappies and burped-on baby clothes, entertaining, feeding and burping again, reading to, calming and trying to encourage sleep pretty much the whole time you're on your own with said baby.
It all comes back to me now – no time to go to the toilet, to take a shower, not even time to make a cup of tea let alone drink it. Until they go to sleep, then it's rush around and tidy up, put the washing out, feed the dog that's been ignored all morning, put the jug on and – hey, ho – the baby's awake again. More baby time.
And in between the feeding and burping, the nappy changing and getting out the much-tried and true Where's Spot? it all came back to me. The old tricks we used to divert attention from the tears that followed a loud noise (the neighbour's car horn) or the dog hanging around the bottom of the high chair – so much more interesting to grandson Ollie than the choo-choo train delivering the little plastic pouch of mushed-up lamb and polenta (we never had fancy flavours like that in my day, sadly).
I'm even picking up new tricks – like how to open and close the pushchair with its secret catch (causing only one broken nail and several swear words); how to clip in the car seat (one pinched finger and more cussing); or how to start the baby monitor and the electronic shusher and tippy-toe out of the room (preferably without Ollie noticing).
One thing hasn't changed since my time parenting: you can't make babies go to sleep when they don't want to. Things seem much more regimented now: feed time, play time, bath time, calm time, sleep time. We were much more relaxed about schedules when I was a mum. I think it was a generational thing – a reaction perhaps to the generation before ours when Dr Truby King proscribed a tightly maintained schedule for babies, with no cuddling or contact if they cried instead of going to sleep. Babies, of course, tend to set their own schedule, and it's likely to change weekly if not daily. Baby time expands to meet the baby's needs. All we can do as grandies is go along with what they want and hope their mum won't disapprove when she returns.
Grandmothers, of course, can indulge baby's whims; grandmothers can do things that mums can't do – like find treats, sing silly songs, remember lyrics we thought we'd forgotten, play old fashioned music like the Eagles and dance to it, with the baby in our arms, in the early afternoon when no one is watching. We get a new lease on life, and some of those forgotten feelings of tenderness, responsibility and unconditional love all come back again with interest. We're being given a second chance and we can do it so much better this time because we can give the gift of endless time. Not something mums have so much of – not in my day, and not now.
There are some downsides to being a grandma though. Like all the bugs that babies pick up from their cousins who've picked them up from nursery school; and like having to put locks on cupboards containing the family heirlooms, and put all the household detergents and cleaners up high and far, far away from the kitchen sink where they're most useful. And then there's the way, when Ollie's mum or dad come to collect him, he goes out the door without a backward glance. As if the last few hours of silly songs, dancing and endless repeats of Spot and Ride a Cock Horse to Banbury Cross never happened.
But then, on the other hand, I can get on with all the chores that have gone on hold the whole baby time he's been here. That's the other big plus about being a Grandma – no matter how much you love them, how delightful they can be, you can always hand them back.
Written by Felicity Price. Republished with permission of Stuff.co.nz.