In December, my daughter and her partner welcomed a beautiful baby girl into the world. A month later, my husband and I hit the road to admire the masterpiece—and lend a helping hand. Life changes after childbirth, and sleep becomes a rare luxury. Usually, help is more than welcome in a new little family.
After a five-hour drive, we arrived at my daughter’s house. As soon as we parked in front of the garage, the dog greeted us with great excitement. She’s a female German Shepherd who came bounding out of the backyard, barking loudly. This 75-pound rocket charged toward us at full speed. When she hasn’t seen us in a while, we always wonder whether she sees us as friends or strangers.
And when she’s really happy to see us, she stands on her hind legs and gives us a big hug. It takes all my strength to stay upright.
My granddaughter is absolutely adorable. She cries often, but not for long. I can hold her in my arms, though I’m afraid of dropping her, so I sit in a comfy chair to hold her safely.
I held her for long stretches—fed her bottles, gently massaged her tummy when she seemed uncomfortable, and helped her burp, which seemed to ease her.
I had plenty of time to admire her up close. They were beautiful moments. While I marveled at her tiny fingers and toes, everyone around me was busy: my son-in-law was renovating the basement, my daughter was vacuuming the whole house, cooking dinner and prepping other meals. My husband was installing little shelves and picture frames in the baby’s room.
Before arriving, I had wondered what I could possibly do to help “the gang.” I was the only one not doing anything—no vacuuming, no cooking, no laundry, no scrubbing little corners. Walk the dog? He’d end up walking me. I suddenly felt like a useless grandmother. I felt like… an useless. It’s a sad feeling. I consider myself far too young to be shelved with the useless things.
All I did was hold a baby in my arms.
“You’re not useless, Mom,” my daughter said. “If you weren’t holding your granddaughter, I’d have to hold her—or her dad would—because otherwise she cries. And it’s hard to get anything done with a little chickadee in your arms.”
I understood: my role wasn’t hard to fulfill and seemed almost insignificant compared to the tasks everyone else had taken on. But in truth, I saved the day thanks to my seasoned grandmother skills, my legendary patience, and my love for this little family. I allowed them to get things done and keep the household running smoothly.
And as a bonus… I like to imagine that the inner tremors of Parkinson’s soothed the baby, like the hum of a car that lulls children to sleep. No, I’m still useful to society—just in a different way. In fact, my services were so appreciated that I’m already in demand again.
— Diane Patenaude