BayouKidz | The Joy of Motherhood

When Your Children Have Children

article by Cindy G. Foust

It’s the month of May dear readers, and Mother’s Day is resting differently with me this year. Yes, it is with great pride and adulation that I make a big announcement: I.Am.A.Grandmother. Can you believe it? Oh, I know I don’t look like a grandmother…if you’ve seen me recently, I know that’s what you are thinking. Well, except for the crow’s feet and the forehead indentions that look like craters and the creaky bones and the way I have to stretch in 6 directions to work out the kinks when I’ve been sitting too long. But other than that, I still look (and feel) like that 32-year-old first-time mother from 1998, having my first baby and knowing absolutely nothing about parenting. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Goose egg. Nothing except that my baby boy was absolutely glowing with a beautiful bronze color, despite the fact that Scott and I both look Scottish Irish and bit like Casper’s relatives with our chalky skin color. So, where did the beautiful tan skin come from? To quote our beloved pediatrician, Dr. Chico Rosales, “No, baby, he’s not tan. He has jaundice.” Which takes me back to my original statement about us knowing absolutely nothing about parenting.

Except that we were overwhelmed with love and adoration for this new life that we were gifted 26 years ago. It’s hard to believe, as I comb through his baby books, that my own son, who is now a father, was once this tiny little baby…with tiny little perfect features; ears, eyes, lips, teeth. Wait. He didn’t have teeth then. But you get the picture. He was, in our eyes, pure perfection.

  But then the crazy thing happened: and this perfect little baby was shoved in our arms and with the wave of their hands good-bye, the nursing team sent us on our way. Home…to try and figure it all out on our own.

And that we did. But not without the help of many, many older and wiser counsel. Our parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, someone we met in the checkout line at Brookshires when we couldn’t decide between Boudreaux’s Butt Paste or Destin cream. It’s definitely true that it takes a village, and this is truly a time when you feel their presence. And it’s as welcome as the first signs of spring.

I know, I know, I sound like Mark Twain. But the truth is, readers, as glorious and extraordinary as parenting was, and still is, becoming a grandparent has penetrated a part of my soul that I can only best describe as having been quietly sleeping. Sleeping? You have questions, I know, but for me, in the spirit of my usual transparency, after I lost my son, Samuel, I think a part of my heart, my soul, just went to sleep. Perhaps that’s a natural protective mechanism, I’m certainly no expert, but what I can tell you is that it happened, rather naturally, and likely understandably, and sealed off like some vault at Fort Knox. Until it wasn’t.

My daughter-in-law’s labor started quite naturally, and seemingly textbook. Until it wasn’t. In one moment, we were all laughing and making jokes about who was holding the baby first and who she was going to look like, and then, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, the unexpected and unwelcome things that can happen with any labor and delivery slowly started to penetrate our blissful waiting room.

I have had some unfortunate life’s circumstances, some I write about in this column, some I choose to hold close to my chest. But many of those circumstances have revolved around medical professionals who have held me and my family close and who have and continue to come through in ways that keep us safe and healthy.

And this time was no different. In those hours of uncertainty and worry, the medical team that was supporting my children helped keep Gracie and my new granddaughter safe. Sometimes, you just want things to go smoothly, right? And without drama? But when it doesn’t, for me, trusting God will lay His hands on my family is all I have. And trust I did.

I told my mother that on this day, April 11, 2024, I watched my son grow up. Oh, I’ve watched him grow up in the traditional, conventional ways that we watch our kids grow up. I watched him play sports and graduate from high school and then college and then go to work and buy a house and get married and get a dog. But watching him stand in that delivery room and protect his family, and love and support them through the fear and worry that he had, took my love and respect for him to another plateau.

As he walked out in the hallway to show our new baby girl to her new grandparents, curiously, I wondered how I would feel when I first laid eyes on this little life…would I be able to love her as much as I love my children. Would that even be possible? There’s a line from the classic children’s book, The Grinch, that says, “The Grinch’s heart grew 3 times that day.” I’m here to confirm that that growth is entirely possible. It’s not just made up for the sake of young readers in a children’s book, it’s not. A dear friend of mine told me to be prepared because becoming a grandparent causes this “seismic shift in your life,” and that is about the best way I know to describe it. 

And when I held her? That shift was palpable, like feeling it in my bones. And watching the touch your son gives to his wife and their new baby…the current lump in my throat is the size of a Buick.

So here we all are, friends, at the end of this column, in the month where we celebrate one of our most precious assets, our mothers, and you can find this writer in a puddle around my computer. Y’all know I am quick to write about my life, and share with you my experiences, my failures, the sometimes-unbelievable things that happen to me, and of course, the humor that lurks around every corner of my life. Sometimes the successes feel distant…like they belong to other people, just not to me. But not today, no today feels like I won at life. Like the gold medal champion of grandmothers. Is it hokey for me to say my heart is full? Well, that wouldn’t really be the truth…it’s more like my heart is exploding. In this first Mother’s Day in my life as a grandmother, I am full of gratitude and love and I find myself in complete and utter awe of this newest little life. It’s magical; extraordinary; and has me thinking that my little baby love will likely be going to Harvard in kindergarten. Any other grands out there, with me? And next month’s column? The result will be in as what she will call me. The debate has been real…9 long months of intense research but I’ve finally decided. And readers, buckle up…it’s a good one!

Cindy G. Foust is a wife, mom, author and blogger. You can find her blog at the alphabetmom.com for weekly columns about home life, parenting, small business stories and insight with a smidgen of literacy. Give her a like or follow on Facebook and Instagram.