Returning from London to San Francisco, I find myself humming Frank Loesser's tune. Unable to sleep on the 11 hour flight, I am reflecting on this past year of writing about online dating. Despite having been in my sixties, I was certain that I'd dance in 2016 with a new partner.
Instead, the last evening of 2015 found a very different pair of arms around me, those of my 9 month old grandson. Together, we were experiencing the first night away from his parents. My own daughter had been four years old before I left her to present at a conference on dreams. I had created a little book for her with illustrations of each tiny logistic change for the days I'd be away. While I worried of how she'd do without me, she'd later tell me she had so much fun that she didn't miss me at all. Ooomph.
I had little confidence that would be the case with a nine month old. While we had bonded anew in the two weeks since my arrival, I wasn't sure how I'd measure up on an overnight without his parents. With one child, I never acquired that nonchalant care-giving I hear from parents of multiple children. Are these stories of the same genre as those of giving birth in a field and then immediately going back to work? Are there as many myths about grandparenting as there are about parenting?
I hadn't remembered viscerally the weight of responsibility accompanying the sheer joy. While I was practiced in naps and nappies, snacks and meals, I had to train for putting him to bed and morning wake up. I hoped I was up to task for these times when young babies are most vulnerable and in need of familiar comfort.
The test run, two days before new year's countdown, went brilliantly. Even bedtime went well. I was encouraged and confident. That was before I waved goodbye to my daughter and her husband and had a moment of muted panic. I'd soon remember the exhaustion of anticipating potential hazards for crawling babies, even in a baby-proofed home. As a part time on site grandmother, being on the job every three months takes some catching up. Jet lag or not, I was on duty. Alone.
Last August in France, the time it took him to flip from his back and crawl to the edge was sufficient for returning him to the bed's safe center. Now it was about giving him time to explore how a door swings before he brings it into contact with his sweet forehead. That red line on his soft, new skin became a reminder to forgive my errors in judgement rather than a source of endless guilt. This, too, took practice.
I'd like to say I needn't have worried and that, like my daughter, her son barely missed her and her husband. I don't think I'm projecting in believing that by day two he clearly desired their return.
Despite his missing them, we had a wonderful and deep bonding experience: Improvisations with the sitting while eating rule, reflections in kitchen cabinets a delightful distraction. Night walks in his pram by the canal before bedtime, houseboats outlined in Xmas lights. If possible, I grew to love him even more. Lifting his arms to be comforted and snuggling into my neck brought back joyful somatic memories of my own daughter. It felt almost spiritual.
While we both were very happy when his parents returned, I was ecstatic to have had this time alone with him.
And, in their absence, I was privileged to experience two firsts in his young life.
•Two upper teeth broke through to join the bottom pair. While nipping a pear from my hand, I had the honor of experiencing his first razor sharp bite.
•I was also able to observe his successful opening of the pop-top bin. No small task, as he was the shorter of the two. I thought I had left it open the first time I noticed. That was before observing his standing on tippy toes, hands above his head, feeling without benefit of sight for the spot that would spring the lid. The delight of his accomplishment lit up his face. And mine.
This visit he wasn't tall enough to reach any higher and close the lid, either successfully or on his fingers. I'll make a note for my next trip which I'm now planning. Knowing when I'll be with him next takes the edge off the sadness of long-distance grand-parenting.
It's 2016, time to spread some of that passion and obsession with being a grandmother into rewriting my online dating profile and getting back on the proverbial horse. I am discouraged. Seeking a small nudge, I find it on Katherine Woodward Thomas' Facebook page.It's tempting to play it safe, and hope that love will one day find you without putting yourself out there too much. I mean, do you even know anyone who can't wait to sign up for the latest online dating site or attend a local singles mixer?
.http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/03/fashion/single-and-surrounded-by-a-wall-of-men.html?action=click&contentCollection=Opinion&module=MostPopularFB&version=Full®ion=Marginalia&src=me&pgtype=article&_r=0
All right, Katherine, mentor extraordinaire. Here I go. Again.