I love the title, not so much the stereotype. Knowing I’m going to be a grandma soon seems to have highlighted the gray hairs I’ve been trying to hide, as the reality my little girl is going to have a baby settles in.

I love the title, not so much the stereotype. Knowing I’m going to be a grandma soon seems to have highlighted the gray hairs I’ve been trying to hide, as the reality my little girl is going to have a baby settles in.


The little bump has quickly become a mound, as my daughter can’t fit into her clothes any more. She’s at the in-between stage where maternity clothes are too big and her regular clothes are too small. I like it best when her shirts fit tight and it’s obvious the baby is growing. I love every minute of it, and before she can swat me away, I talk to the mound as often as I can. If the baby can hear me, he or she is probably already thinking their grandma is a weird one.


When the kids were little, I’d worry something would happen to me before I could get them raised. Even though I was sad to see their childhood years pass by there was a certain amount of relief, if I was to make my final journey (upstairs, I hope) they were able to take care of themselves. As they both found awesome husbands (I’m not just saying this since they might read my column), my job seemed to be complete, so I’ve been coasting along, until now.


Having a grandbaby brings a whole new perspective to the table, with the goal being able to stay around long enough to see them through childhood, graduate, have babies of their own. Will I have the privilege of being a great-grandma one day?


This new role as grandma prompted me to take inventory of my health. Overweight – check; bad eating habits – check; not exercising – check; high cholesterol – check. This could go two ways – either I kick it into high gear, stop eating Pop Tarts as snacks and exercise, or slip into the stereotypical grandma SAS shoes and get on with it.


I’ve learned not to make promises to myself about sticking to a diet because the growling stomach always overrides the brain. I rationalize being overweight with the fact that I’m pretty confident I can work circles around anyone who wants to challenge me when hoeing the garden or trimming saplings off of 50 trees with a hacksaw.


The baby isn’t going to care what grandma looks like, it’s all about having cookies in the cookie jar, candy in the purse and being able to do anything they want when they’re with me and mom’s not around.


While tossing and turning last night, feeling like a chicken on a rotisserie, trying to get comfortable, my thoughts turned to how fast time has passed. Here I am, officially over the hill, aches and pains, gray hair, menopausal and soon to be a grandma.


Life doesn’t get much better than this.