Lisa Geichman Prosek

By the time I held newborn Carter in my arms, it was all over. He’d won my heart. But getting there was quite a journey.

All I could think about when I saw the photo of my daughter and son-in-law holding a positive pregnancy test was how I was going to look sitting in a rocking chair with my soon-to-be gray hair wadded up in a bun.

I was too young to be a grandmother. I had my whole damn life ahead of me.

I knew my reaction wasn’t textbook. They expected me to cry, jump up, and hug my daughter. Instead, I stayed glued to the couch, painted a smile on my face, and searched silently for the words I was supposed to say. “Congratulations!” finally came out of my face. “When are you due?”

I’d been taking care of people for years, and I wasn’t ready to add to the list.

Okay. I got over that. I started passing by the usually avoided baby section in stores. I started caressing pink little-girl dresses and sparkly ruby slippers as I walked by. I remembered when my own daughter was young. I could handle that again. I could play Barbies with a little girl.

Then I found out she was a boy.

I didn’t know what the heck to do with a boy. I didn’t know what a boy liked to play with or how he’d think. I remembered how my brother managed to get a major injury every week from the time he was six years old until he was grown up. And I’d never done booboos very well.

That’s where I was on the day Carter was born. I feared I’d never connect with a being so unlike me and for whom I was so unsuited.

Then I saw him. He resembled my daughter. Years seemed to disappear. Sometimes the lines between being a mother and a grandmother blurred right before my eyes.

While I was disoriented, I had to learn all over again how to take care of a baby. Hold Carter’s head. Realize that he’d develop in stages. That he wouldn’t be able to recite or even understand The Gettysburg Address right out of the womb and that I would have to find some way to communicate with him.

Instinctively, I did for Carter like I did for my daughter. I held and caressed him. Because my touch was like his mother’s, Carter bonded with me. The more I saw him, the more I wanted to see him.

I helped Carter manipulate his little toys. I played with them differently than others, in atypical combinations. I put the stacking cups upside down on Carter’s workbench. It made him think. He accepted me for what I was and looked forward to what I’d do.

Later I learned that climbing played an integral part in our relationship. I served as Everest to Carter’s Sir Edmund Hillary. I got a hug every now and then. It melted my heart.

I’ve taken care of Carter when he was miserable with teething and a bad cold. I’ve given him lunch when he was joyful, breakfast when he wasn’t. I’ve put him to bed when he was grateful and when he was grumpy. No matter what, I did my best, not always doing the right thing, but always trying. Carter forgave my shortcomings.

It was a year ago today that he came into the world. I’m still not sure I know what being a grandmother is all about, but Carter and I are on our way to finding out.

And I’m looking forward to it.