I’m about to give birth to a 175 pound, 6′ 3”, 24-year-old, bouncing baby grandson. Metaphorically of course. His mom did the hard part in that department. He’s a sweet kid who needs some help getting his feet on the ground. So Mr. Husband and I have agreed to help him out with room and board for a while. He’s coming here to Texas from way up north and hopefully job wise it will be better than his current situation. He arrives Friday night.
I’m deliriously happy and scared to death at the same time. I’ve been crying off and on. Finally told my husband that my worse fear was that we would end up in some hillbilly situation that could be on The Jerry Springer show. The episodes where adult children move back home, get a little too comfy and don’t make much effort to fly the nest again.
I’m counting on Hub-man’s strength and general man vibes to keep me on the path. Not to be harsh or too lenient and have to remember that Grandson is an adult so I can’t make him stand in the corner if he misbehaves.
Another thing that is freaking me out is that I am getting these weird grandmotherly urges to cook tons of food, clean the house, bake cookies, wash clothes. Who stole my brain? I want it back now!
I know part of this is coming from not getting to be a grandma when he was younger. Daughter and I have gone through long times of being estranged. It also seemed like where ever I lived she wanted to live somewhere else, and just send money now and then. Well, the years passed and now he’s a man. A young man in need of guidance and a helping hand. I hope we can be there for him and he chooses a good path.