I’m not a grandmother. Yet. Becoming a mother so young, I thought I’d have been a grandmother by now as I’m sure my daughter thought she would be a mother by now. It hasn’t worked out that way.
I look forward to it one day. I really do. I’ve got two twin beds in our spare bedroom just for grandchild sleepovers and we have the crib ready to be moved out of the garage attic. I’ve got toys waiting to be played with and books waiting to be read. All of our son’s outdoor Tonka trucks are stored away waiting to build roads in the sandbox. I even have a couple of sets of Little House books stowed away because any grandchild of mine will know the Little House books!
I sometimes worry that it will never happen, not just for myself but for my children. I long for them to know the joy of looking into their child’s eyes and seeing the love and trust and pure innocence. Of having those chubby little arms wrap around their neck in the biggest best hug they could get. Of watching that peaceful worn out sleep of an very busy baby.
I think about this a lot, especially lately as my daughter has chosen to take the journey of fostering to adopt. I know this journey will bring joy and heartbreak (of falling in love with a child only to see it returned to its parents). But I know this journey will be rewarding because she will be helping a child who needs her, maybe not permanently, but at that very time when he/she needs the love of a parent substitute the most. And I know that my daughter can give that love. But her ultimate goal is to adopt and I hope that happens sooner rather than later.
Because I want her (and my son when he’s ready) to know the joy of parenthood. And I want to be a Grandma!