Marcus (and his mama) came home from the hospital today. I cannot reiterate how much I love this kid. I still don’t think I can explain it. Other grandparents know what I’m talking about but I can honestly say that I didn’t understand it until I became one. Let me be clear, it’s not the same as with my own kids. I love them with all my heart and I would die for them. That pretty much goes without saying. However, being a grandparent has that same type of sacrificial love but there really isn’t the same motivation. This is not my child. I didn’t help conceive him or bring him into this world, but I would die for him without hesitation.
I think the idea of “instant love” comes pretty close to describing it. When I look at him it isn’t the same as when I looked at my own kids. It’s close…but not quite the same. There is still something “magical” (for lack of a better word) that happens when I’m holding him or looking down at him. He is part of my “legacy” (once again, I don’t have a better word) and he is a genetic descendant of mine and I really feel like we’re connected. I now understand that look all of my grandparent friends have in their eyes. I know it’s in mine every time I look at my little monkey.