Oh, Baby!

Our grandson, Willem Paul, arrived Monday morning, a little early, but fortunately healthy and ready to take on the world.  It hardly seems possible, but the experience is even more wonderful and exciting than our friends said it would be.  I received photos via computer to share before he was two hours old.  At three days old, Willem had his first New York cab ride, going home from the hospital.  Pastrami sandwiches, a Yankees game and the Staten Island ferry can’t be far behind.  I wonder if he will think and talk with a Yogi Berra accent as in “Dis milk is good” or “I like dose graham crackers,” or “Dese diapers are dirty.”

Willem might be a New Yorker but he has received a ton of greetings from his “peeps” in Ohio, Indiana, Tennessee, Michigan, Wisconsin, North and South Carolina, Illinois, Florida and Mexico.  There have been

lots of questions such as “Who does he look like?”  At this age, I think most babies can look like anyone and everyone, depending on the camera angle.  Several people see a resemblance to Willem’s Uncle John’s baby pictures.  Someone said he looks like Paul but also noted he has hair – a definite contradiction since the babies on Paul’s side of the family (and mine, too) are always bald. When David was a baby, my dad called him “Slick.”  Still, looking for family resemblances in babies seems to be a favorite pastime.  Once, when David was about a year old, the woman in front of me in the grocery store check-out lane turned aroundand said, “That baby looks just like my dentist.”  (Yes, she was a patient of Paul’s.)

Another big question for us as grandparents is, “What is the baby going to call you.”  We know grandmas,grannys, mimis, grandpas, pas, papas, poppys and many variations. A high school friend sent her good wishes along with the most original grandparent names, Mamie and Ike.  When Cindy chose to be “Mamie,” her children’s name for their grandmother, Bill’s choice was a no-brainer.  Unless Willem has other ideas, I plan to be “Nana,” like my own two grandmothers.  (See my March post, “A Tale of Two Nanas.”) Paul hasn’t decided for sure, but a friend’s grandsons call him “Bob” so Willem may wind up calling at least one of his grandfathers “Paul.”

The most important question is, “When are you going to see him?”  We have plane tickets and plans for a

six-day visit with Willem in mid June –plans we made several months ago based on a June 1 arrival date.  I am a responsible person –the kind of person who keeps commitments, follows through on promises and doesn’t cancel out at the last minute.  This week, I am scheduled to fill in for Paul’s office manager, attend an Acclaim awards event, play in two golf leagues including one where you get a zillion demerits if you don’t show up, get my hair cut, go to the Playhouse, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  

However, I still remember how nice it was when both my mom and mymother-in-law lent a helping hand when David and John were new babies and Paul went back to work. To be honest, I’m also dying to see Willem in person; so, I told  David and Megan I was available if they needed me.  When they took me up on my offer, I started canceling things as fast as I could dial the phone.  In fact, even though the idea of ever skipping a high school or college class used to send my anxiety levels to the danger zone, I would skip anything and everything for an opportunity like this.  Well I might not skip a dinner date with Paul Newman, but, anyway, he’s dead now so I’m not in a big rush to see him.

It’s just as well I’m leaving town because my mind is clearly not in Cincinnati. Wednesday I spent a long time

looking for the steno pad containing all my to-do lists and finally found it under my arm.  I wondered why my bike shorts were so uncomfortable on Sunday’s ride until I realized I was wearing them inside out and backwards.  Before I leave on Tuesday, however, I guess I should practice diapering and review my Dr. Spock so I can be a competent Nana. Then again, maybe I’ll just wing it; and, if I leave my reading glasses at home, they probably won’t ask me to help cut Willem’s fingernails.
P.S. The photos are all courtesy of David and Megan