The First Day: The Perils of NanaHood

By Rebecca Faye Smith Galli

My first grandbaby’s photos lit up my phone. “First day of daycare,” my son-in-law captioned it. I scrolled down past the photo of my darling three-month-old Blakely Faye giggling, past those bold eyes assuring me she was up for her next adventure to the one of a caregiver holding her.

A caregiver I’d never met.

I burst into tears.

“Oh my!” is all I managed to text back.

I stared into the photo, first studying my grandbaby’s cherubic face and the zoomed in on caregiver’s hands.

Were they kind? Were they loving? Were they good enough for my precious Blakely Faye?

And the tears began in earnest.

Tripp, my faithful Puggle (half Beagle/half Pug),  jumped down from the couch to make sure I was okay. I’m not sure what it is about the empty nest and my fragile emotions, but my dog can tell when I’m upset. He’ll trot over to me, sit and lean against my wheelchair and then nuzzle his snout up under my hands until I pet him.

“I’m okay, buddy,” I said, wondering if I was. Why does this perspective, this Nanahood view, make life’s small steps so vivid, so ripe with meaning?

As I studied the hands of this caregiver, one I would probably never meet since we are separated by three time zones and 3000 miles, I flashed back through my twenty-eight years of parenting four children. How many hands had I entrusted with my children’s care? Nannies, daycare providers, babysitters, teachers, instructors, coaches, tutors—all were invited into my children’s lives.

And now, it had already begun for my grandbaby. Those hands represented the first act of letting go, a lifelong process that—as I know so well now—never ends.

Yet, it’s exciting. As big and strong and caring and loving as our parental hands are, we cannot provide everything. We need others to help us and to help our children grow.

What will these hands teach my grandbaby? What will she learn from this experience? These are the questions that keep us spiraling up and out, looking out for our children’s best interests, a lifelong pursuit.

And I smiled, thinking of all the wonderful adventures ahead for the precious little one and reached down to pet Tripp once more. But he was gone, already back on the couch, mission accomplished.

Later that day, one more photo lit up my screen.

It turns out that Blakely’s “teacher” is also an artist.  What talented hands are holding my grandchild! How exciting!

Nanahood. Got to love it. The ups, the downs, and the surprises just around the corner.

This is a guest post by Rebecca Faye Smith Galli (Becky) is a writer, columnist, and new Nana who writes a weekly newsletter, From Where I Sit—Lessons from a Resilient Heart at www.BeckyGalli.com . She’s @Chairwriter on Twitter/Instagram.  (Becky was paralyzed in 1997 by Transverse Myelitis, a rare inflammation of the spinal cord that began as the flu.)