How It Feels To Fall Deeply in Love With a Heavenly Angel

It doesn't get any better than the arrival of a new grandbaby.

Photo by Liv Bruce on Unsplash.

Dearest readers, let's diverge from our usual course today and indulge in the marvel of someone truly ethereal.

Enter my grandson, Weston Alan, a being both flawless and cherished, arriving in the world last Thursday. Within his initial 24 hours of leaving the womb, I had the privilege of cradling him in my arms.

Picture this: as I enter the hospital room, there he lies, nestled contentedly in his mother's embrace. He just ate, so he's content and sleepy. As I stand by my daughter's bedside, he turns his head sensing my presence. As newborns do, his eyes momentarily cross before fixing directly on me.

"He's opening his eyes for Gigi!" exclaims my daughter to our husbands, although I harbor doubts. Could he even make me out as separate from the hospital decor? Newborns possess limited vision, with clarity developing in the weeks ahead.

"Are your hands as chilly as always?" my daughter asks, knowing the answer.

I discreetly slide my hands between the hospital bedsheet and her velour track pants.

Slowly, my icy fingers thaw, achieving an acceptable coolness. With bated breath, I delicately lift him from my daughter's arms, my confidence as a mother of three suddenly feeling inadequate. His tiny frame seems pliant despite being snugly wrapped like a burrito.

In my embrace, he fidgets, his tiny chin quivering in protest at leaving his mother's comforting chest. Limited sight notwithstanding, he senses the absence of her familiar scent and the distance from the source of his first sustenance, colostrum.

Uncertain in his new surroundings, he emits small mouse-like noises and squirms. His red face resembles a miniature volcano ready to erupt.

"He hasn't cried yet," cautions my daughter, a subtle warning.

A grandmother worth her salt would never elicit the first cry. I resolve that it won’t happen under my watch. It was disheartening enough that I had caused tears in my own children; I couldn't bear another lapse.

His wriggling ceases, and he returns his gaze to me. Seeking to seal our unspoken pact against tears, I sway and bounce, silently conveying, "Look, there's much to explore in this room." He appreciates my efforts and maintains his tranquility.

Emulating a TikTok-famous grandma pediatrician called Bubby, I add a rhythmic tap to his bottom. Insurance.

Bubby (is there a better name for a grandma doctor?) says you can pat a baby's bottom harder than you think, modeling it for the camera on her grandson. He doesn’t appear to mind her pounding. Ever cautious, I stick to gentle tapping.

Weston’s pale arm, like two plump sausages linked together, escapes the confines of the swaddle.

I gasp. Why isn't he wearing an undershirt? He needs something—it's January, not an optimal weather month for one's debut into the world in the frigid northeast.

But the current l'air du temps prioritizes frequent skin-to-skin contact with mom and dad. I'm not about to tell them how to dress their piece of heaven. Besides, what could be better than the sweet fragrance and feel of a baby’s skin against you?

I swiftly open the blanket, adjust his arm, and swaddle Weston on his father's hospital cot. He appears startled, perhaps contemplating informing his parents of his discontent. My maternal instincts are back and intact; we're wrapped and back to pacing before he can complain. Nothing to see here, folks!

We stroll, locking eyes once more.

A sudden sneeze startled both of us. Was this his first sneeze ever? My daughter had recounted a few instances of hiccups while in utero, but do they sneeze in there? He seems perplexed by this involuntary reaction, sneezing twice more.

"Am I ok?" his eyes implore.

"You’re ok," I smile back. When you’re older, you’ll understand that your body has a mind of its own.

The sneezing has passed, and we resume our mutual admiration. Placing my index finger in Weston's palm, I delight when tiny fingers curl around it instantly. His touch is other-worldly. Is there a word for softer than soft? I looked in the dictionary, and no, there isn't.

Nearly an hour has elapsed since my husband and I arrived. Papou has had his chance to hold the baby, although, of course, I held him much longer. As it should be.

Weston’s parents have already endured a sleepless night and are preparing for another. Besides being awakened for cluster feedings, the nurses will wake my daughter up every hour to take her vitals.

The hospital is no place for rest.

It's time for us to go. Even though I could look at his adorable face for eternity, we go. Every Weston moment is replayed in my mind as we walk to the car. I am in love and counting the seconds when I can hold him again.

Until next time, sweet boy!