In case you missed it, I had a life-changing event in my life almost two weeks ago: I became a grandmother for the first time.
Don’t worry — I am not going to write about my beautiful granddaughter, Kennedy, every week. But I’m thinking about how I’ve changed since 5:55 p.m. May 16, just like becoming a parent rocked my world years ago.
You know you’re a grandmother when:
You proudly want to wear those T-shirts that you thought were cheesy and ridiculous before, like the one I have with “Mimi” on it. I make sure it’s washed and ready to go, and I plan to order more to make my status known to the public.
Baby items just jump in your cart when you’re shopping. You have no control or willpower over it. Before I know it, my cart has tiny shoes or sweet little baby outfits in it, even though her closet and dresser are stuffed already.
You take your cellphone everywhere, ready to show pictures to anyone who asks — or doesn’t — from checkout clerks to strangers in stores who have babies. The best audience is other grandmothers — you show me yours; I’ll show you mine. It is understood that I’ll ooh and aah over your grandchildren — and even watch videos — if you give me equal time.
You make a mental note when people don’t ooh and aah appropriately — and you will never forget. Or maybe that’s just me.
You have never had a Facebook page or wanted one until now, just so you have a place to brag and show off pictures of your grandchild.
You finally understand that silly saying embroidered on pillows and such: “If I knew grandchildren were this much fun, I would have had them first.”
You start looking at everything as a potential danger for the baby, from the cleaner you spray on the countertops to the zipper on your jacket.
You read every article on the latest research that has anything to do with babies or toddlers.
You feel vindicated when your grown child acknowledges it must have been hard when he didn’t sleep for the first 14 years of his life.
You’re extra proud at what a good parent your child is because maybe it means you did something right.
You don’t care if you miss your favorite TV shows, even the season finales, if it means you get to sit and rock your grandbaby.
Even though you’re a workaholic, a new baby puts it in perspective.
You can’t stay away. I promised I’d give my son and daughter-in-law space. I don’t want to wear out my welcome. One day, I left my car running, went to the door and asked for a quick Kennedy fix, just a whiff of her sweet-smelling skin or to hold her little body for five minutes.
You now understand why, after your children were born, your own parents acted crazy and couldn’t stay away.
You can’t quit talking (or writing) about your grandchild, even though you know you’re becoming a bore.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.