Sometimes Grandmas Are Better Than Aunties

My nephew, Silas, is almost a year old. He is pretty much the most adorable little boy I know. It doesn't seem possible that he is a year old already. It seems like not too long ago that my family was downstairs during a february snowstorm, praying for safety for my sister and the little life that she was laboring to bring into the world. I remember like yesterday how we were watching the Avengers, but nobody seemed to be paying much attention. Nobody was laughing at the funny parts and there was no idle chatter during the quiet moments. Our thoughts were elsewhere. 

My mom, however, didn't even pretend to watch the movie. Instead, she was ironing. Ironing, ironing, ironing. Not talking to anybody, not looking up from the ironing board. But everybody knew she was praying, and praying hard. I'm sure she was thinking back on the seven times she had also given birth, and the empathy and concern for her firstborn radiating from her was almost palpable. 

The commotion and joy and relief that followed several hours later when we received a message to our phones giving us the first glimpse of the nephew/grandson that had been so longed for was almost enough to make us forget our worry and pretend we hadn't spent the last few hours fretting. 

But I hope I never forget. I never want to forget how my mother ironed her heart out for hours while praying and waiting for news. While he was having the first big experience of his little life, his Grandma was praying him through it. Someday I'll tell him.

They still have a special bond, Silas and his Grandma. Even before he could do little more than eat and cry, his Grandma could hold him tight and bounce him slightly, and he would fall asleep. As he has gotten older and has begun to figure out that he can actually go places, getting the little guy to stop moving long enough to take a nap has been quite a chore, especially when his mother isn't around. When he is tired, cranky, and impossible to please with peek-a-boo or flying around like an airplane, somehow his Grandma still knows how to calm him, to lull him, to hold him and sing to him, until finally, he releases his stubborn grip on consciousness and slips into a peaceful sleep, safe in his Grandma's arms. 

But the bond they share doesn't just stop at naptime. Silas is always slightly overwhelmed when he comes to our house. There are always lots of people greeting him at the door, exclaiming about whatever outfit he is wearing and clamoring for his attention. Understandably, it's a tad overwhelming for a child with less than a year of world experience. So he is sometimes unsure how to deal with all the attention, but his anxiety fades when he sees his Grandma. For her, he always has a big, knowing grin, like if he has to be in this big crazy house, he's glad she'll be here, too. 

All his aunties have tried to duplicate Grandma's stellar baby moves, without much success. And it would be a lie if I said I didn't envy her uncanny ability to put the boy at ease. Not that Silas dislikes his aunties, but when push comes to shove, we all know who he will choose. 

The other day, we were trying to get the house clean. Nikki had dropped off Silas for the afternoon. Mom had been holding him, but needed to move a large chair and asked me to hold him for a minute. I took him in my arms and did my best to replicate the slight, comforting bounce that my mother has down to an art. Almost immediately he was squirming around, and soon I had no choice but to put him down. As soon as his little feet hit the floor he was padding over to his Grandma, holding up his arms in the universal "pick me up" toddler gesture. Had I just been essentially told to hit bricks? Yes. Yes I had. Was I aggravated that my nephew wanted his Grandma and not his Auntie Jo? Not in the slightest. First of all, you can't be aggravated at Silas. He is too darn cute. Second, and more important, I understood very well why he felt that way. 

My mother is a special person. She has a special way with babies and children, and everybody, actually. Mom's hands are more comforting than anybody else's. Mom's voice is more calming than anybody else's. Her soft demeanor is relaxing and her voice can lull a baby to sleep like nobody else's that I've ever seen. Even now, as a write this, tears come to my eyes as I think back to the many many times I've been on the receiving end of these gestures of kindness and love. The songs sung to me at bedtime. The hand moving, soft and gentle, over my face as I drifted to sleep. 

 

My mom is a soft, loving person, but she is also a strong, capable person. And somehow she can communicate this without words, and babies and children can sense it, too. I know, because I was one once. With Mom, I always felt very cherished and also very safe. She is a mama bear, and cubs--and grandcubs--can tell. Babies are intuitive, and can sense these things. 

Could I be upset that Silas would rather be with my mom than with me? Oh, to the contrary. I just looked fondly at the little boy as he waited patiently at his Grandma's leg, gave him a knowing smile, and thought to myself, "I know, dude. Believe me, I know". I was glad that he understood the gem that is his Grandma. I was glad he knew the security of her essence. I was glad he knew, at least a little bit, how special of a person she is. And someday, I suspect, he'll understand how lucky of a person he is to be blessed with such a Grandma. 

And if he doesn't, his Auntie Jo will tell him.