My grandson, Nolan, just turned one year old. How has a year passed already? Wasn’t it only yesterday I was holding him for the first time in the hospital? They say, “Time marches on,” but they’re wrong. Time has entered the “Star Wars” age and Han Solo has installed it with hyper-drive. Time is now hurtling through space at a breakneck speed, dodging asteroids and trying to not get blown up by the Death Star. Fighting against those G-forces can wear you out. Maybe that’s why I’m more tired than I used to be, and also where all these wrinkles came from. I thought time went fast when my children were young. Then again, I could hardly keep up with the old Atari game, Pong.
BN (that’s ‘Before Nolan’), when friends regaled me with tale after tale… after tale of their little darling’s antics with photos to illustrate them, I mentally rolled my eyes. “Stick a fork in me. I’m done,” I groaned inwardly after the 427th photo depicting a beanbag type creature wearing a grimace they kept calling a smile, and bow the size of a small tropical island Scotch-taped to an invisible tuft of hair. Now, I’m afraid I fit into that category of nauseating grandparent, but at least I don’t have to lug around stacks of bulky photo albums like when my kids were little. All my photos (and videos) are conveniently on my phone. Best invention EVER. Now I can be nauseating everywhere I go.
No, really, I try not to be the braggadocios type of grandparent. You know, the kind that people hide from when they see them coming, but sometimes I do have to share. After all, Nolan is the smartest, cutest, sweetest one year old I know. And yes, he has me happily wrapped around his little finger. Happy birthday, Punkin. Grammy loves you.