Nana duty is not for sissies. It requires you to do things you once did as a mother: feeding, tending and cleaning up after little people who seem to think they own your soul simply because, for some reason, you love them more than life.
But here's the big difference. As a mother, you were young. As a nana, you are not.
You can tell yourself you're still young at heart, but you cannot fool your body.
Had I known as a mother what it takes to be a nana, I'd have taken better care of my knees.
That said, I will tell you this: Being on nana duty is not nearly as tough as being on nana call.
That's where I am now, and have been for days, waiting for a call that will launch me into action. I hate waiting. Every inch of me, even my knees, would rather act than wait.
My son and his wife are expecting their third child, who is scheduled to be delivered by cesarean section soon. Even sooner, if my daughter-in-law goes into labor. They live in California. I live in Nevada, 500 long miles away. My job, when summoned, will be to get there quickly to help out with their boys, who are 4 and 2.
Fortunately for them, and for me, they have my daughter-in-law's family living close by and a wealth of friends who've offered to help in all sorts of ways.
That doesn't mean I'm off the nana hook. I took the bait the day my first grandbabe arrived, and with each new arrival, the hook sank a little deeper.
Once you fall head over heels, hook, line and sinker, you're done. There is no turning back. I fell long before I was a nana. The day I became a mother, I became a nana in waiting.
It's a package deal, like a credit card that charges no interest for a while, and then one day, look out, it's time to start paying up.
I could go to California today and wait with them there. But I don't want them to get sick of me. They'll need me more after the baby comes, not so much before. A big rule of nanahood is never outstay your welcome.
Remember Kenny Rogers' old song "The Gambler," about knowing when to hold 'em or fold 'em? Being a nana is like that. You've got to know when to hold the baby; when to fold the laundry; and when to pack up your nana stuff and go home.
When my babies were born, I had no family nearby. But we had a lot of great friends from church and from the high school where my husband taught.
They babysat for my older children; ran errands to get diapers; did dishes and other chores. One guy even showed up to cut our grass.
Best of all, for a week or so after I came home from the hospital, they took turns bringing us dinner. Usually it was a casserole, something simple, but it always tasted like the best meal I'd ever had.
After my third and last child was born, I was tempted to have a fourth just for the free meals. And yet, those helping hands kept showing up, not just when I had a baby, but whenever we needed them, especially in the years my husband was battling cancer.
We were blessed to belong to a large and caring community. All too often, families live far apart and good friends can be hard to find. But community begins with just one willing hand reaching out to help another.
It's not hard. Look around. Someone will need a casserole. Or just a helping hand.
I'll keep waiting for that phone call. I want to be there for my son and his wife and their boys, to be part of their lives, welcome this new baby and help in any way I can. That's what nanas do.
But I'm not worried. With or without me, they'll be fine. Lots of people love them and ...
Wait. Was that my phone?
Award-winning columnist Sharon Randall writes about the ordinary and extraordinary:
randallbay@earthlink.net
Family on 01/21/2015