Afternoons with Peanut

The Little Peanut is two weeks old today.

It's hard to believe how two weeks can change a person's life. This week, we celebrated the opening of her eyes, wide with curiosity. Made me think of the French "regard me"; there's no better explanation for it.

Everytime I look at Sky, she's giving me the once over, all serious, like a celebrity you've caught up with and asked for an autograph.

"And you are?"

This week Sky had a mammoth, gucky poop, a kind of anniversary poo full of all the good stuff left over in her intestines from her womb experience. It was green and flowed all over her father, the intended victim of the slime.

Nick took it all in good humor, telling the story over and over, as new parents do.

I remember Stef had one of those in the early days of infancy.

I'd left Mr. Big and my mother in charge of him and I'd gone for a well deserved nap. Suddenly, I heard screaming, then whooping. Rushing the stairs, two at a time in a panic, I found Grandma wiping his ass while Dad was juggling at least two diapers full of a pea soup like substance. The other baby Nick, sat unobserved in the corner with his hand stuck in the jar of vasoline.

Good times.

Gramdparents and parents have a way of projecting onto the child, mistaking gas for a smile, or a strong head lift as evidence of a possible bid for an Olympic medal. Scott came home every day this week to hear me brag about the latest movement, noise or eye roll. He just nodded to amuse me.

I just can't get enough of this stuff.

I never could.

I have the privilege of watching my little granddaughter for a few hours every day, and watch her I do.

It's what all the naysayers didn't get when I said we'd offer Nick and Shyla the basement apartment to help them get started on their lives together. I don't have enough fingers to count how many people told me to just let them white knuckle it on their own.

Who are the fools now?

I get my afternoons with the Little Peanut.

What do they get?