The Grandmother Gene

My Grandmother DNA kicked in this week. Not that it hasn't been there, but some sort of hormonal switch clicked and it is now fully vested.

I had seen this happen in others. Usually, there was early onset of this, and all sorts of grandmother-ing spouted forth with the announcement of the due date. There was then an explosion of photos with the birth and the tendency for the conversation to circle around the grandchild(ren). We even had a name for it: "I have the world's best and smartest grandchild--Until yours comes along."

And come along she did. Emily was born in April, six weeks ahead of time. My DNA kicked in to a moderate level and I shared my photos and hogged a proper portion of the conversation. But we've putzed along. Emily and I have been sideways in many of our encounters: too much me? Bad timing? We've shared tearful meals and one-look-at-her-grandmother and the lower lip trembles and it's all over but, quite literally, the crying.

This week, however, I think we reached a level of maturity on both our parts. She didn't cry; I didn't grab. We waited each other out at lunch yesterday and when she got antsy in her stroller, I held her on my lap. It didn't hurt she was flirting with the gals at the next table or that my multistrand necklace fit neatly in her hand. I had smiles from her and grins and she showed me her first two teeth.

That ol' Grandmother Gene went into hyper action. I'd have held and loved and played all day, but she got tired and we had to say goodbye. Here's to next time, Emily!

PS: I believe the DNA is present in the male of the species also, but comes bundled with toddler-sized golf clubs.