I dropped my parents off at the airport last night. Hugs and “see you soon’s” were exchanged but ‘soon’ is a relative concept these days. Max has woken up each and every morning and ran into their bedroom, announcing his arrival by jumping on and snuggling up. This morning he ran in with anticipation and excitement etched across his face only to find my lazy arse sprawled across the bed. The only clue they were here is a pair of my Dad’s boxer shorts that I found at the bottom of our bed which I am thinking of turning into a comfort blanket for Max. “Nanny? Nandad?” Ouch…..parenting can hurt at times.
They have delighted in getting acquainted with their only grandchild witnessing the bits you don’t get from Skype; how smooth his skin feels, his habit of summarising his day from the comfort of his cot, the way his tongue curls at the edges when he is concentrating, his rapidly escalating vocabulary and so on. Max has had two new play mates who have turned up from nowhere and loved him like Mummy and Daddy. For the past 3 weeks I’ve barely had a look in, I’ve felt unusually redundant sitting back with pride as my parents get a ‘turn’ on Max.
To Max’s great delight my Dad, or “Pappy Baa Baa” as he has been cruelly dubbed by Max in reference to his sheep like bouffant, has spent the entire three weeks talking, gesticulating and generally taking on the persona of Thomas and his steamy friends, he does a particularly good Fat Controller. As endearing as this may sound, to be in the company of a 60 something walking talking Thomas for three weeks has been testing and required a colossal display of self control to stop myself from derailing his engine. “Come on Thomas follow me through the tunnel it’s time our engine had a good wash at the station” and such like.
My Mum has turned back the clock and rediscovered her inner-mumsy. Nappies have been dealt with with the care and attention usually reserved for a nervous butler charged with changing the Queen’s undies, “this wasn’t in the job description Ma’am”. Meals have been meticulously prepped like she is Head Chef at the latest hippest 3 hat restaurant. Books have been brought to life in a fashion that would make JK Rowling feel a little inadequate. Presents have been extravagantly lavished at Max’s feet making Santa look like a miserly old git.
In short they’ve done what Grandparents are supposed to do and spoilt Max rotten. Is it me or do Grandparents know something that parents don’t? The benefit of hindsight seems to have served as a reminder that little people are hard to beat (and I’m not talking about physically attacking elusive dwarves). I often get caught up in the perceived stresses of the daily routine and watching Nanny and Pappy Baa Baa was another reminder to make the most of Max and enjoy every moment for what it is.
If there are any Grandparents in the Bayside area of Melbourne that would like a weekend grandchild please do get in touch with references, crime checks and explain in less than 30 words what makes you Grand.