I’m a grandmother now. And even though I have more life behind me than in front of me, or maybe because of that, I find myself slowing down rather than speeding up.
When I was a young mother, I was always racing. There were schedules to keep, meals to prepare, extracurriculars to get to, There was always somewhere to be or something to be done.
There were a million things to check off my proverbial list, items listed in black ink, crossed out in red. Days were measured by what we accomplished.
But now, with my granddaughter, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here—holding her or just tracing the soft curve of her lucious cheek while she sleeps.
This time, we’re not trying to “get through” the day. I’m in the day.
There’s no agenda.
No checklist.
No milestones.
No timelines.
My race has been run. There is only this moment to savor. So, I’ll rock slower. Listen longer. And, I’ll let her tiny hand guide me.
She doesn’t need me to shape her future—That’s her parents’ job. She doesn’t need me to worry about her future (although undoubtedly, I will). She just needs me to be present. To listen. To laugh. To love.
And maybe that’s the quiet miracle of grand-parenting—You’re no longer consumed with who they’ll become.
You are simply in love with who they already are. And this love is softer, slower.
Maybe, even sweeter.
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