The Road Not Taken

I was recently browsing through some old blog posts, and came across one which I wrote in June 2008.  I would like to dedicate it to all of the grandparents who provide care for their grandchildren while their parents are at work.  You are bestowing a priceless gift --

And, here is the original:


We sit at the kitchen table, morning sunlight filtering through the leaves of the maple trees, as I give Alivia bites of banana and place scrambled eggs on her tray. I am dressed in Capri pants and a soft, worn T-shirt, with my hair freshly washed and dried. A typical weekday morning. Then Alivia’s other grandmother drops in – wearing a stunning summer dress with a silver pendant, her hair coiffed attractively, looking every bit the executive she is. She breezes in and out, on her way to work, and I think of the road not taken.

I could so easily have been in her shoes – the important career woman with a long resume and impressive credentials. Instead, I sit here today, working in my home office trying to manage a family business that has suffered tremendous shock from today’s economy, while my ten-month old granddaughter plays at my feet.

In many ways this is déjà vu for me. I became a mother at the precipitous moment when women began joining the workforce in droves. Then, I was young and idealistic, and the thought of sending my precious babies to day care was abhorrent. I spent 27 years at home, raising my three children, working hard at an assortment of drab occupations which could be performed from home. I no longer take part in the old “Mommy Wars” – I have seen a generation of children grow up with both at-home mothers and working mothers, and believe that, for the most part, the determining factor in a child’s life is having a loving mother of any kind.

However, when I look into the innocent eyes of my grandbabies, I cannot imagine handing them over to strangers each morning.

As we raise children, the change from totally dependent infant to self-sustaining adult is so gradual we hardly notice as each stage ends. By the time my youngest daughter graduated from high school, I was already on my way to a life of newfound freedom. For several years I prided myself on the speed and accuracy with which I did my job in the family business, on my well-kept house filled with warmth and beauty, and on my lovely flower gardens. I began a genealogy of my family which required many hours of research and writing. My hours were filled with enjoyable pursuits and I was amazed at my accomplishments at the end of each day.

Of course, I longed for grandchildren; I envisioned myself as a doting grandmother who would play with my grandchildren, read to them, teach them about nature and be a loving and gentle force in their lives. I hoped their mothers would be able to stay at home with them.

Reality set in a few months before Alivia was born. My daughter-in-law had to go back to work when Alivia was 8 weeks old, and decisions had to be made about her care. Of course, I volunteered to care for her – how could I do anything else, when being home with my own children had been such a priority in my life. Then, a month after Alivia was born, we found that my other daughter-in-law was pregnant; she, too, will have to return to work at the end of the summer. And so began the latest phase of my life.

I had forgotten the demanding world of babies – my youngest is 24 years old, and the memories of her first two years had become rosy and blurred by time. The reality of feeding, burping, changing, rocking, and walking a crying baby were a mild surprise. However, I easily slipped back into this slower, gentler way of life. My work piles up on the desk as I rock my sleepy Alivia and sing to her, to be rewarded by her huge smile and wet kisses when she wakes up. At ten months old she has become a charmer, and I am so glad that I made the decision to care for her – the bond we share is a blessing and her laughter lights up my life.

Yesterday I snuggled my newborn grandson, Lucas, as Alivia played on the floor and his mother and I talked. He has changed so much in his first three weeks of life; his solemn eyes gazed into mine, and I felt the immense responsibility of caring for these precious babies, who so innocently give us their complete trust and love. Being cared for by a grandmother who loves them beyond expression will certainly be the next best thing to being home with their Moms. My days next year will be filled with baby needs and toddler antics, and most of my office work will be done in the evening after they have gone home.

Obviously, the day-to-day care of babies is a physically demanding task for a 57-year old grandmother. Gone are my days of efficiency and accomplishment, but they are replaced with the secure feeling that I am giving my grandchildren what they need most right now – a loving, supportive, safe environment. I will be able to pass on the important values so necessary in today’s greedy world of self-absorption and instant gratification.

So, as I wave Alivia’s other grandmother off to her adult world of work and gather my precious banana-covered baby into my arms, I feel only a tinge of envy; the warmth of these little arms wrapped around my neck and the precious giggles in my ear more than make up for the road not taken.