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. Our youngest son's firstborn.

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 is my daughter's son. 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, sang to him, 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 lying 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, and 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 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.