You ever hear of the war of the baby pictures? Well, it's silent, it runs deep, and it's only known to grandmothers. My best friend and I are sharing photos, and thank goodness her granddaughter is blond and blue eyed and mine is dark haired with dark eyes. Both are, of course, unbelievably adorable, and even if the ordinary citizen cannot see their uniqueness, we know, we really know. There is a pact among us grandmothers: to ooh and aah over each photo, description and developmental milestone with as much vigor and commitment as our declining strength allows (maybe a little jealousy here and there, but we repulse such immature feelings) and to basically wallow in the joys of grandparenthood with someone who is equally committed (maybe in several senses of the word) to worship and adoration.
It actually rubs off on all encounters with babies and children. I used to think some were ill behaved and tiresome. Now they all seem irresistible, even in their wee little grocery store tantrums. I prefer speaking with little people nowadays - I find their mispronounced words and thoughts on the nature of the universe cute and even, dare I say it, profound.
The textbooks talk about baby love when referring to the bond between parent and child, but hey, they ain't seen nothin yet. It's like entering a Disney cartoon and all the little critters are so squeezably soft you would follow them anywhere - down a coal mine; into the vortex at the bottom of the well. Their chirping is music to your ears, and by the way, soon you are singing Whistle While You Work and Down Under the Sea. Yes, it does have it's frightening aspect, but at our age, we must try new things. My friends and I are trying out a religion of the babyhood. So if you see us, run. We have many, many photos in our bags, and if we get your email address, we'll be sending you videos of the little geniuses. Run screaming from us. We are extremely determined and we're retired, so we have a lot of time to pursue you.
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