There is a great myth perpetuated out there that is generously shared by women of a certain age.
This aspirational, literal old wives tale, purports that there is a source of sublime pleasure waiting to be tapped.
I’m sure you’ve heard it, too. Perhaps you’ve even spoken these words, too.
“Grandchildren are better than children.”
Wait. What?
THEY would have you believe that the offspring of your offspring is a delight that your offspring never amounted to.
THEY would have you believe that your experience grandparenting trumps (we can still use that verb, right?) parenting.
You know the reason:
“You get to enjoy them and when they poop you can give them back.” And by “poop” they mean anything unpleasant but the idea is that these small humans are not yours and not your responsibility.
Parenting is hard.
Parents deserve to be off the hook for the poop at some point, don’t you think?
So it would seem reasonable that this delightful bit of insight is true. Maybe for many it is. It stands to reason.
But I think this is the poop. There is no such G (grandparent) spot. It’s some kind of wonderful, I’ve no doubt. But I doubt it is better than parenting.
My kids are older now. Some are old enough to be parents. I’m old enough to be a grandmother. Many of my friends and contemporaries already are.
I am not sold on the superiority of grandparenting over parenting.
I loved being the parent of babies and toddlers and to some degree adolescents and to a somewhat lesser degree, teens.
I loved NOT having to give my kids back to anyone, ever, and still struggle with giving them to the world.
There was always a self preservation aphorism I fortified myself with: Children are a gift for you to safeguard. They are not yours to keep. They are yours to love.
I don’t know. Maybe the fear of losing them was always there so I needed to contextualize
Point is, a subconscious fear was “giving them back.”
If I could time travel it wouldn’t be to a past century or to the future. It would be just 2 decades back to when my babies were my babies.
And while I’m not quite ready to morph into a grandmother when I have trouble accepting that I’m not in the 80s anymore and no one knows who The Cure is, I’ll bet it will be incredible.
Sublime
Secondary
🌺 🌺 🌺 🌺🌺 🌺 ᗷEᗩᑌTY, ᗷOOKᔕ, ᗷᖇOᗩᗪᗯᗩY, ᗷOYMOM, ᗷEᗪᒪᗩᗰ, & OTᕼEᖇ Vainglorious Pursuits 
I have an alternative perspective…I am not destined to be a grandparent because, for differing reasons, both my adult sons will not be fathering. You’d think I’d be brokenhearted – nah! I struggled with motherhood – adored my babies, toddlers, schoolkids, teens, young men – the works BUT I have MS. So my health prohibited full-on selfless parenting. Maybe you’d think that is part of the reason behind my loving sons’ decision (it isn’t). The fact I don’t need to feel I’m a bad grandmother is a huge relief. I’ve seen my contempories saddling up the back seat of their cars as soon as the sperm hits the seed of their offspring…not my bag!
LikeLike
Thanks for sharing your perspective. I applaud you for all you must do because you have to, stuff many of us take for granted. I wish you good health and happiness. XO
LikeLike