Watching Granty Grow

"I'll sit here with my little man near, we'll listen to the radioBidin' my time and watching Scotty grow."

Many of you probably recognize the line there from Mac Davis's song, a popular hit for Bobby Goldsboro way back when. Funny, but I don't remember Wendy and I bidin' our time watching our children grow up that much. And we even had a child named Scotty!

Way back then, other issues commanded more urgency, whether it was career, home improvements, shopping, friends or family. And the impatience of youth interferes as well.

You're anxious for your baby to graduate to the next stage whether than involves sleeping through the night, feeding himself, potty-training, whatever. Sure, we spent plenty of times with the little ones doing various activities, but that's all lost in the maelstrom of life's other activities

Now, Wendy and I don't have to worry about career or furthering our education. We're settled in a home that has probably seen most of the improvements we're going to make for now. Shopping isn't important. So now we can have weekly visits with our grandson. "Biding our time and watching Granty grow." Hmmm, not the same.

So some observations thus far . . .

Whenever he comes over, our grandson has this dour expression as though the weight of the world lies upon his shoulders, even at three months. Wendy can pry a smile from him easier than I can. If I bounce around the floor, barking like a dog--which I'm doing in the picture below--he'll smile for me.



But that doesn't bode well for his opinion of where grandpa sits on the evolutionary scale.

One impression I have already is that Grant follows in the footsteps of his dad and his grandfather, me. He's not much for listening to conversation, much too easily distracted by the picture on the wall, the color of the ceiling, and the lights in the room. He seems to regard lamps with special fascination. Very short attention span overall. I keep telling Wendy that part of the reason I lose focus of what she's telling me is genetic. I have short attention span genes. Maybe Grant will help prove me right.

Our grandson does like to share with us his tales of woe, sadly cooing and whimpering, combined with the occasional squawk. What weighs so heavily on him is a mystery to us. If his Boston Terrier brother Simon is nearby, Simon will come over and give him a few licks. Apparently Simon believes the cure for infant distress of any kind is generous amounts of dog slobber.

I tried to upload here a video of Grant as he awoke from a catnap in his grandma's arms. Uploading the video didn't work but the link does. You can see our grandson manage a faint smile when he realizes who's holding him.

Later, Grant fell asleep in his grandma's arms again. Then his father came home and awoke him with a series of jabs and pokes--toughening him up, dad said. Disturbed from his slumber, our grandson awoke with a scowl, looked up to see his dad's face and . . . BIG SMILE.

Now why can't he do that for us?