He is Number 4

One week ago I became a grandmother for the 4^th time. He came into the world weighing 7 lbs, 9.5 ozs. He looks like his mommy but has his daddy's feet. Cute as a button and so tiny. I just met him and yet the love I feel seems like it's always been there—just waiting for him to be born. He's the baby of my baby. My youngest son's first born.

Grandchild number 1 came a little over 9 years ago. I couldn't wait to see him, we had to fly across the nation—he was so far away. From the minute I held him in my arms, I loved him. In my heart, he was mine. My very first grandchild, the son of my daughter. It felt to me as though I had given birth again, only to ask my daughter to raise him for me. It was a strange new emotion. I knew intellectually he was hers and yet at the same time he was part mine. I was the grand mother—not the mother. And when I held him, he fit. He was made to be rocked by me, his grandma. And so I did. I rocked him and sang to him and prayed for him and told him how much I loved him. He was my grand baby. He will always be my first--we were meant to be, a perfect fit. Our relationship is special.

Two little granddaughters came afterward, one for my daughter and then one for my middle son. Two adorable little girls, they are 5 and 2 now. They are a little more independent, they are future women. I can already see the progression of their little personalities, I know they will be strong. Being female-- well, we have an instant connection. I know what little girls like to do, I know how they think. I used to be one and I also gave birth to one. I can just imagine our future, we are going to have a blast! I can see it now—lots of girly stuff, late night giggles and talks about boys.

My paternal grandmother died 2 days before my middle son's wedding. No one told me. They didn't want to ruin that special day. It was the right decision—and yet still heartbreaking for me. I loved her dearly. After my parents, I loved her most. I spent my summers at her house and later for a time she even lived with us. We shared a room. I remember laying in my little twin bed telling her my secrets, my dreams, about school and boys. There was never any criticism, only deep thoughtful listening. I miss her. Our relationship was special.

Number 5 is due in June. He'll be the son of my middle son. The child most like me in personality. I can't wait to hold him, rock him, pray for him, sing to him.

That's what I did for my children. Mostly I prayed—from the moment I found out I was expecting. I laid my hands on my big round stomach and I prayed. I asked God to protect them (that was the most important of all my prayers) and I asked Him for wisdom--to help me to be kind, understanding and yet firm. And lastly I prayed that He would find the perfect mates for them, and He did. He answered my prayers.

Now I pray for my grandchildren. All the same prayers really, all the same love...

That's my new job. Oh, I still pray for my children, but now I also pray for their children.

And one day-- I hope to listen thoughtfully to their hearts.