My role as Bubby is taking shape as the grandchildren grow and multiply

T

oday, even in the frum world, we have how-to books on almost every subject. How to date; how to build a healthy marriage; how to take care of your newborn, toddler, and teenager; how to marry off your kids.

In the secular world, there are books about the next stage of life, about grandparenting. But in our heimish culture, to my knowledge, such books don’t exist. Is it because we assume nothing could be more natural than becoming a grandparent?

When I became a bubby, I didn’t take to it naturally. I met my daughter at the hospital as she was nearing delivery. When the baby was born, I hung back, allowing the first-time parents to enjoy this miraculous stage in their young lives. After they’d admired their progeny for several minutes, the nurse handed me the tiny wrapped bundle. Two eyes peeked out at me. I gazed into them and thought, Now, what? I’m not about to nurse her. What am I supposed to do with a newborn that’s not mine?

I was emotionally filled by my own precious three-and-a-half-year-old. He still retained the big eyes and soft cheeks of his babyhood. I wasn’t missing having a baby in my life yet, and the little package of pink didn’t strike any sense of motherhood longing in me.