50-something Moms Blog

On Being a "Fake" Grandmother

That' s my husband with a very young friend of ours on a weekend at the beach.  Neither of our boys is married yet; one is engaged.  We're in no hurry - they should run their lives in the rhythm and timing that suits them.  They live across the country from us, and that's hard.  We miss them and they miss us;  we're the ones who moved back east and "left" them; there was no way not to.  Life can do that.  They both went to college out there - and work in the computer business -- so it's natural that they've settled in there.

An amazing thing has happened though.  In our community, there are lots of young families.  Many of them have parents as far away as we are from our kids, so we have the blessing and honor of being "fake" grandparents.  Never when the family comes to town - we're careful to stay out of the way then unless absolutely invited -- but the rest of the time we enjoy the company of some lovely children.

The joys of childbirth, someday all mothers will share them

Can you remember that moment - your newborn in your arms, the warmed hospital blanket covering you, the wonder and joy of it indescribable - and, all these years later, still enormous?  I've been thinking about those moments all evening – mostly because tonight I saw a bit of a new film called  A Walk to Beautiful that's going to be on PBS in mid-May.

It's about what they call a secret epidemic in the developing world. Young girls are married off or abducted at the age our kids are moving from Brownies to Girl Scouts and getting pregnant in huge numbers - giving birth, often, with no help at all.  Instead of the joyful amazement we knew, they know only suffering and shame.