I just got home from holding my week-old grandson Ari for the better part of two hours. I arrived just after his feeding, so he was full and dry and sleepy. I was able to carry on  conversations with my son and daughter-in-law, but really I was totally focussed on my grandson. The micro-expressions that crossed his face were fascinating. I revelled in his every stretch and movement. Every change brought a smile to my face. Honestly, I could hold him and look at him for hours, well, I guess I did, but I mean for longer than two hours. But that can’t happen, because a week-old baby needs to feed every two hours. But enough about my visit, let me tell you the story of how we became MeMe and Poppy.

In April I wrote about how our son and daughter-in-law broke the news to us that we were going to be grandparents. A little later on we got ultrasound images. Then before we went on our trip to the Maritimes we discovered that the baby was a boy. We kept the secret until it was announced at the gender-reveal party that took place while we were away. Then at a family dinner, they told us his name. Several months later we decided on our grandparent names. I was going to be MeMe and Dale was going to be Poppy. All these little things made the time we had to wait bearable, because of course, the pregnancy and waiting was all about us. I’m sure my daughter-in-law would agree!

As October grew nearer and the due date approached, we started bringing our phones up into the bedroom with us at night. I had to admonish Dale one afternoon when we tried to reach him and his phone was in the house instead of with him on his errands. We were on high alert all the time. But a doctor’s appointment just before the due date revealed that things were not quite ready. We relaxed a little, and that should tell you something, because that’s when things happen.

On the day before Ari was born, I spent most of the day on the couch binge-watching “Call the Midwife” on Netflix. It was a rainy day and I was content to wile away the hours wrapped up in tales of childbirth. On the day Ari was born I was at rehearsal. Being a responsible actor, I turned the sound on my phone off. I checked it before we started and then again when we had a break. Nothing. But when I checked it again near the end of rehearsal there were several missed calls, several texts and one voicemail. A photograph showed an IV bag, so I thought that meant our daughter-in-law was in the hospital, that she was in labour. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t read the texts. Instead, I moved off to the side and listened to the voicemail. Dale informed me Ari had arrived. Holding back the tears, I went to my bag and got my glasses. I read the texts that our son had sent. Usually I stay behind, helping clean up after rehearsal, but I left as soon as the director said we could go. On the ride home I called my husband to get more details. I believe I started the call with “OMG! OMG! OMG!”

Ari was born at 2:53 pm. Our son texted me at 2:59. I texted him back at 3:39. By 4:45 we were on our way to the hospital, after getting balloons, Gatorade – not blue! – and Tylenol.  In the hour between the first text and me getting home, Dale had gone to Toys R Us to get a stuffed lion (Ari means lion in Hebrew).  We were at the hospital, waiting on the Maternity Floor by 5:00. Our son texted us to say they were still in the labour/delivery room on the second floor, so we made our way to the waiting room there. The hospital was quiet and we weren’t sure we were in the right place, but we settled in to wait. After a few minutes I had to use the bathroom. Dale said as soon as I went someone would come to get us, and sure enough that happened. As I was walking back down the hallway toward the waiting room I could hear our daughter-in-law’s voice. I turned the corner and saw her standing there in her hospital gown looking tired but incredibly happy and beautiful. I hugged her and congratulated her and then she took us into her room.

The room was dim and we could see our son sitting in a chair in the corner. He had a tiny bundle in a blue towel on his chest. I snapped a photo as Dale approached. I will never forget the look on our son’s face. It was one of pride, joy, exhaustion and fear; kind of “look what I did Dad, now what?” He looked so comfortable holding his son, so natural but still so overwhelmed. We took turns holding Ari and marvelling at him. A little later our younger son and his girlfriend arrived. It was so amazing, having everyone we loved so much in one room. The nurse came in and needed our daughter-in-law, so we gave them some privacy and headed up to the maternity floor waiting room.

We didn’t have to wait long before the new family came by. We gave them some time to settle in and then visited with them in the larger, more comfortable room. After just a little while we could see that our daughter-in-law was flagging, the adrenalin and emotion that had been sustaining her was wearing off. After hugs and kisses we left. We were still on a high, after all, we hadn’t gone through the day and a half of labour. We kept looking at each other, and calling each other by our grandparent names.

Now, he’s a week old, and we are all still enthralled. It’s hard to put into words, but all the other grandparents out there know what I mean. There is nothing more powerful than seeing your child holding his/her child. Words don’t do the feeling justice. Just as there are no real words to describe how you feel holding your grandchild when he is just a few days old. It’s all encompassing love and joy. I can’t imagine how it will feel when he actually smiles at me, or recognizes my face or voice, or says my name. I weep now thinking of it.

As a very wise but smart ass person once said, if I had known how wonderful it would be to have grandchildren, I would have had them first.