I am the fortunate grandmother of twin girls, almost two. Since the night of their birth the purpose of my life has expanded to include a dedication to building a relationship with them unlike any other I’ve had. Although growing up I loved my own grandmothers, our relationship was rather remote. Looking back, there was an artificial emotional distance, likely in place because of cultural norms, family dynamics and sometimes, location. And I had friends, who were very close to their grandmothers, often seeking them to confide in or ask for advice.
It’s that kind of grandmother I hope to be. The quiet listener, the gentle counselor, the teacher of fun and practical things. Yoga, emotions and French currently at the top of the list. It goes without saying that I love them so much (I just did say it, didn’t I?) I want to memorialize their entrance into this world and their experiences of it. I want to chronicle my observations of their growth and development. So here is my first attempt. I don’t know what shape the subsequent letters will take, but here they will be. For posterity. For them to perhaps read someday.
Nighttime
I slip into the girls’ room a little after 10:00 pm. They’ve been in bed since 7:30 and asleep since about 8:00. They are good sleepers and rarely fuss at bedtime, sometimes babbling into the darkness before falling fast asleep. The room is pitch black, the sound machine (which I used to hate and have grown to love) is on full-force. Nothing moves.
Although my daughter has equipped me with a silicone orb that glows when you turn it over, I’m loath to use it because I don’t want my presence to interrupt any part of their slumber. So I quietly shuffle about, changing clothes, plugging in my phone, and folding myself into the narrow twin bed, it’s duvet the very same I bought Hannah before her sophomore year at BU. How time turns and twists on itself.
Once I am settled in bed, I become aware of my breathing. Of their breathing. I can’t exactly hear it because of the sound machine, but I know it’s there. Their soft snoring and occasional sighs and coughs that penetrate the dark and the manufactured sound.
I’m aware of a great sense of peacefulness. What are their dreams? Do babies have dreams? I feel my own love for them well up from deep inside. It almost brings tears to my eyes, but instead I smile, remembering the fun we had today in the sunshine, as I witnessed their ever evolving and unfolding experience of themselves and the world. Their wonder, their infectious laughs, the pony tails barely held in the elastics I brought them this visit. They are as much my treasure as were my own daughters.
I’m honoring my daughter’s request not to post pictures of the girls, so here is an image of a funny puppet show we saw in Rome this past December. I’ll need to be creative about future images. Thanks for reading, friends.