I grew up the second oldest of seven children. Six girls, one boy. He is next in line after me with four girls younger than he is and two older. My brother and I grew up together. Oh, we didn’t always like each other. I am five years older and so he was more of a pain in the neck to me than anything else in our younger years. I would regularly give him a clout for some infringement or other that displeased me. I was really kind of a mean big sister. However, let someone else pick on him and I was ready to fight tooth and nail. Especially if whoever was picking on him was bigger than he was. I couldn’t abide bullies then and I guess I have no time for them now either.
I was left alone a lot with my younger siblings starting at the ripe old age of seven. I don’t know why my mother thought I was competent enough to watch two younger siblings and her friend’s two sons all at once, but I did and I assure you, I wasn’t good at it. My mother kept having more children and I kept watching them at different times, sometimes for so many hours at a time I thought I’d go crazy. So, no wonder that in those days I decided I was never having children. I knew what a demanding pain they were and wanted no part of it. Funny . . . . .
Well, I have to admit once I got up into my twenties my biological clock started clicking and I not only knew I wanted children, I was desperate to have them. Quite a turn-around huh?
I had my first son at age twenty-four. He was such a joy. Such a happy, fun baby. Then my second son was born when I was forty (yep, a 16-year gap). I was older so I didn’t have the energy for him that I had with the first one, but I appreciated him so much more and I savored his baby years. He is now 17 (so do the math). Now I am also a grandma and that was a whole new joy in life that I didn’t know existed until he came along.
Now I, of course, knew I would love my grandchild(ren). But friends, etc., would tell me, “Oh they’re just like your own.” “Yeah, right!” I thought. Because I KNEW that I could never love anyone as much as I loved my own kids. I thought grandchildren would be like nieces and nephews; you love them, but as an extension of your siblings, (or extensions of your children) not like your own children. Well, needless to say I was wrong. My grandson is the light of my life, the apple of my eye, the most precious thing that has come into my life since my own children were born. And I love him as much as I love them. When I go very long (a week is too long) without seeing him my heart aches.
I started to write this about my brother and I and have veered off onto my grandson. Today I saw him for about 15 or 20 minutes on my way to an appointment. I hadn’t seen him for a week. I called my son and asked if I could stop by for a few minutes and he said it was fine. I drove over, knocked on the door and when I went in my sweet two-year old baby said, “Mama!” Now this is what he calls his mom and his other grandma too, so I just said, “Grandma” as I always do and he ran to me and I picked him up and we hugged and kissed. Now that is joy and it brings a smile to my face just thinking about it. I have troubles, yes, we all do, but I have the most wonderful grandson and I am so grateful to have him in my life.
Maybe I’ll write about my brother another day–I’m sure he’d appreciate that (or not).
