You know how people say, the best part of being a grandparent is that when they cry you can hand them back. I poo-poo that. (Well, I might hand her back when the poo-poo happens.) But the best part of being my granddaughter’s grandma is I never want to hand her back. I can’t get enough of little baby ‘Tessa’.*
I want to hold her little squirming body, and squeeze her plump cheeks, and pat her tiny back, and make squirty sounds against her belly, and stroke her silky hair, and have her teeny fingers squeeze mine, and smooch that hidden skin under her wobbly neck, and butterfly kiss her round face, and when she cries hold her whole little self firm and shush, shush, shush against her forehead, rocking her tired, or frustrated little being until I can be still with her, watching her breath softly in my arms until she sighs and falls asleep…
Oh, baby – I don’t want to hand her back at all.
* grand-baby’s name has been changed to protect the very, completely, oh so innocent.