I am about to be somebody’s grandma. I have typed that sentence probably a dozen times while writing this post, and it still looks strange to me on the screen, in a good way, but still strange.

My daughter had her Blue Jean Baby shower not long ago, which if you saw that post you know we apparently turned it into a full denim craft project, and now we’re just waiting. Waiting is a weird kind of busy. There’s nothing to actually do most days, and yet I think about this baby approximately every eleven minutes.

I thought becoming a grandma would feel like one clean, obvious thing. Pure joy or some wise, settled feeling like I’ve finally arrived at the grandma chapter of my life. Instead it feels like a lot of things stacked on top of each other that don’t totally match. I am thrilled. I am also, somehow, a little nostalgic for when my own kids were tiny, which doesn’t fully make sense since I’m not losing anything here, I’m gaining something. I feel proud of my daughter in a way that sneaks up on me at random moments. And if I’m honest, there’s a small flicker of “Wait, am I old enough for this?” that I did not expect and that nobody warns you about.

I’ve started doing small things to get ready that have nothing to do with buying things. I added a little corner in my craft room for anything I can make for the baby, because apparently I cannot be near a baby shower or a new grandchild without also making something. It feels big. Good big, but big.

I don’t have some wrapped up lesson for you here, honestly. I’m not at the end of this feeling yet, I’m right in the middle of it. I’m still waiting, still a little emotional about MY baby having her baby. I just wanted to say it out loud, the real version, not the polished announcement photo version. I am about to be somebody’s grandma, and I am thrilled and nervous and nostalgic and proud, all at the same time, and apparently that’s just what this chapter feels like before it even starts.

With love,

Mindy