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Photo by Torrey Fox |
It was a late November afternoon and the setting sun was reflecting off the windows in the hospital waiting area. I was getting more and more anxious. My baby was having a baby and it had been hours since I’d had any news. My daughter and son-in-law were on the same floor, really just down the hall but I could hear nothing. The last update was around mid-day when Allie texted saying they thought she’d be able to start pushing soon. That was hours earlier. I reached out to everyone, looking for ways to ease my mind. Was Allie ok? Was the baby alright?
This baby was my fifth grandchild and I’d never felt this nervous before. Three of them had been preemies so there had been no time to be anxious before the births; just plenty of time after. This baby was full-term, my daughter was huge and it was all baby. It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving and the photos from the holiday showed a beautiful woman who was more than ready to be a mama. I texted my son in law’s mother asking if she’d heard anything. No, she had not and she was also on pins and needles.
At 3:24 I sent Denzel a message: You guys ok? Nothing came back. At 4:49 pm, just when I was about to jump out of my skin, I got the best text I’ve ever received. Denzel wrote this: He’s here. Then: And healthy. It still brings tears to my eyes to think of it. I wrote back: I’m over the moon. I waited a few minutes so they could tend to Allie and then went to meet my new grandson. When I walked into their hospital room music was playing and the baby was skin to skin on his father’s bare chest. The baby name had been under wraps the entire pregnancy. We had extracted some clues, and did a lot of guessing, but we were nowhere close. Allie told me his name was “Zay”. It was the first time I’d heard this name, but since then I’ve heard it several times. They were smart to keep it a secret. People, and I consider myself a person, have so many opinions, and they’re not afraid to share them.
Zay Ramon Allen was absolutely perfect. He was strong and lively, his color was good, and his hair! My side of the family has never seen a newborn with such hair. Long, black, beautiful silky hair. Looking at Zay’s face after he was born was eerie. He looked so much like Allie as a newborn. They have the same cheeks, chin and downturned mouth. The top half of his face looked more like papa, especially the slightly puffy eyes. When Denzel was born his eyes were so puffy that his mother refused to believe he was hers. The nurses brought Denzel to Casandra and she said, “That’s not my baby. That’s an Eskimo!” The photos prove her point. Fortunately, the swollen-face stage did not last and he grew into a very cute kid and a handsome man.
Zay and I had a little hang after he was born. We had a chat and I told him some things. One of the things I told him was that his mom and dad had loved each other for a long time and they had been waiting for him. We all had been waiting for him and we already loved him so much. I held his hand while he got a shot and wailed, then settled down.
Those newborn days seem so long ago. Zay is now a 16 month old toddler running all over the
place. His life has gone exceedingly well, thus far. Before the age of one, Zay took numerous
airplane flights, including two trips to Europe. At seven months he went to a wedding in Tuscany
with his parents and his other grandmother. At nine months Allie and I took him to Stockholm
which is where his maternal grandfather was born. In Swedish the term for mother’s mother is
“mormor”. One day we were having “fika” at The Hotel Diplomat Cafe when a handsome
Swedish man (don’t get me started on how good-looking the Swedish men are) looked at us
and asked, “Mormor?” Yes, a thousand times yes. I am Zay’s Mormor, aka Gigi, even though I
don’t have a drop of Scandinavian blood in me.
While we were in Stockholm I thought a lot about my former in-laws who met on the street in that very city. I also thought about how my immigrant ancestors arrived in Massachusetts in the 1600’s. I have a relative, Martha Carrier, who was hung as a witch in Salem. We’re also distantly related to both Taylor Swift and Jeffrey Dahmer. Go figure.Allie’s father is half Swedish and half Norwegian and he is the immigrant ancestor. Denzel is African American with a grandmother from Panama. Our big, beautiful melting pot, embodied in one tiny person.
Zay is obsessed with tennis and loves "reading". He's extremely strong, but has a sweet disposition and gentle demeanor. In addition to European jaunts, Zay has cruised the East Coast and spent a lot of time in museums. He’s usually among the first to catch any of the great exhibits in San Francisco. He loves his meals and snacks and afternoon naps and outings in the car. In fact, Zay lives the life of a senior citizen.
My first four grandchildren all have bright, blue eyes. Zay’s eyes are brown like his Dad, but they look so familiar to me. I look in his eyes and I see my mother and her mother and my sisters and my brother who died long ago. I am the only one with green eyes and I was hoping Zay would take after me, but his eyes are just right for him. The hair is always going to be a thing for Zay. People notice it and comment on it and want to touch it. It’s not black person hair or white person hair, it’s Zay hair. The smooth, silky hair has given way to a gorgeous cap of tight curls. It’s quite dark, but in the sun there are lovely copper glints.
More time has elapsed, as time is wont to do. Our sweet boy is now careening towards two years old. His second birthday will be on Thanksgiving. Zay’s childcare has been a group effort. When Allie went back to work I began caring for him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Allie worked from home on Mondays, while also running her business. Denzel has him on Wednesdays and on Fridays his parents trade back and forth.
This week they toured a preschool and it sounds like he will begin in a few months. I felt a little sad thinking about ending our Gigi / Zay days, but preschool will be good for him. He’s ready to be with other kids his age. The school is excellent and diverse. Except for his father, most of the faces he’s seen around him are white. When we’re out in public and Zay sees a black person he just stares at them. He needs to know more people who look like Dada.
Grandmothers In Love
I hope Zay has a little brother or sister. Siblings are important. I will share in caring for him or
her, until they are ready for preschool. By that time I will be around 70 years old. I have been
helping raise kids since I was 13. I had my first child at 23. I have a degree in developmental
psychology and I ran a licensed home daycare. I have been a nanny, a babysitter and a live-in au pair. I took care of kids as babies who are now in their fifties. Raising children has been the
longest, strongest thread woven throughout my life. I am ready to be relegated to after school
pick up and special occasion Gigi.
I have dedicated my life to supporting others and helping them succeed. I have three daughters, a step-daughter and five grandchildren. I’ve had three husbands. My kids are all successful people and I am proud of them, individually and collectively, but with my eldest it’s easiest to see how I wouldn’t be who I am if not for her, and she wouldn’t be who she is if not for me. Our circumstances were fragile, and it was my first time being a parent. We succeeded through grit and will and perseverance and love. It’s my time. If not now, then when?
Life is fleeting and ephemeral and all the cliches. We don’t know how much time we have. I still work, and probably will for quite a while. I do some volunteering and that’s important to me, but I’d like to get back to writing. I’ve been so disconnected from it and my concentration skills have been sabotaged by the internet and the pandemic and the politics of our time. And the grandchildren.
It’s been an intense nine year run with the grandkids. Three of them were born prematurely, at 31, 32 and 35 weeks. It’s been dreamy and tedious and made my spirit soar. At times it almost broke me. I will never forget the winter day that I tried to get Finn into his car seat after ski lessons. He yelled at me: I hate you, my crazy stupid grandmother and I’m going to split your head open with an axe! He said this while wearing head to toe camouflage. We’ve moved past that and Finn has settled down, but that moment was hard to shake, as much as I know it wasn’t personal. It rarely is.
Zay's grandfather is so eager for Zay to talk. His verbal skills are snowballing. He’s saying new words every day. There’s no stopping it. I’m not in such a hurry for the words. Kids say the cutest things, but I have had words hurled at me that I didn’t need to hear. He’ll get there. Just give him time.