First grandchild

Stacy was my first grandchild, and that was special for me. She still is special for me. In fact all my grandchildren are special for me, so why did I have to say that. I'm just a pushover for spoiling, and they all know it. In fact Jim, my son in law, bought us a little sign to post just outside our front door that says, "Grandma and Grandpa's house. Children spoiled while you wait." My contention is that loving them and giving them undivided attention is not spoiling. Spoiling is when you let them have their own way after you have said "No" just because they wear you down by whining or tantrum or some other effective manipulation. That is spoiling.

It was Stacy who I have in mind today. When we had a family gathering at the park across the street from our house, Stacy was fighting with someone else's toddler about possession of a big wheel tricycle. I told her to let the little boy ride it because we must share. A little later that day, Stacy grabbed the soda can out of my hand and started to drink. When I looked with consternation, she simply said, "Share." Some lessons they learn quickly--at least on their terms.

This is the girl who had difficulty speaking in sentences. She would give me all the essential words, but pause at length between each of those words. When her mother was pregnant with sister Suzie, Donna would bring Stacy to our house to stay while she went for her doctor appointments. Stacy, suffering separation anxiety, would ask in her simple fashion, "Mommy...doctor...baby...check?" And we would acknowledge that yes her mommy did in fact go to the doctor to check the baby. Well, the day finally came when Donna was headed to the hospital to deliver. But after she dropped off Stacy, she went into her routine question: "Mommy...doctor...baby...check?" But this time I said, "No Stacy. This time the baby is going to come out." Wide eyed and incredulous she said, "Baby...out?" Yes, we confirmed, the baby was going to come out.

Now my daughter is an effective baby machine in that she seemed to squeeze them out like a bar of soap in the shower. Consequently it wasn't more than an hour or two when Donna was on the phone, asking us to bring Stacy to their birthing suite to see her new sister. We got there so soon after the event that Suzie was not yet cleaned up. But they sat Stacy on her mother's bedside and laid the baby in her lap and unwrapped the receiving blanket. And there was my second granddaughter. The amniotic fluid was dry and scaly in some places. Her hair was matted with it. The beta dine was generously splotched on her little belly. I'm sorry, but she looked like a reptile. Stacy sat and stared. Then she looked up and said, "Poo poo?" In her limited vocabulary I suppose that was the dirtiest word she knew, and her sister was a mess. I next saw my little Suzie a couple days later. She was all cleaned up and was sporting a pink ribbon in her hair. There was my precious granddaughter, Suzanne.