121 days.
Until I become a grandma. My own baby girl is going to be a mother.
I have very mixed emotions and opinions on the matter, but all those don’t matter so much, because the day is coming, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Just be supportive, without being enabling. Be positive, without giving false hope. Give tough love, yet make sure she knows I love her deeply.
In 121 days, I will meet another member of my family. A newborn baby boy. My grandson. An innocent child, waiting to be held, fed, taught, loved. He will depend on his mother for every last thing. And I’m not sure she can give that to him. I want to think she can. I want her to give him all that he needs. The truth is, she is only a child herself. She still has a lot to learn and a lot of growing up to do. Her brain is still developing. Her body isn’t finished growing yet. And yet, her belly swells with new life.
