It's flu season and this grandmother flew the coop

When one is brand new to the grandparenting world, everything is possible. Eleven years ago, I got up in the middle of the night and drove ninety miles to meet my daughter and take the six-week-old baby home with me because the baby sitter was unable to keep Baby Emma the first day my daughter went back to work after maternity leave. 

Of course, it was in the middle of tax season, and I felt like I had to come home to work. If I’d given it a little thought, I’d have gone to Vernon and spent a few days taking care of the baby. Maybe. At least I would have considered it. But about that time, I was afraid not to be in my office from dawn till dark. So, I came home with a bouncy chair, a port-a-crib, a diaper bag, three cases of diapers, and enough formula to last me until June. I was going to keep the baby three days. 

I’m not sure how many days she stayed. I do remember her worried parents coming after her early. Maybe they realized that my clients and their children would be coming in and out of my office while Baby Emma bounced along behind my desk, surrounded by germs. 

A year or so later, my daughter was living in the Metroplex and called early one morning to tell me she was very sick. The baby had been sick for several days, and now, she had it. Barely able to get herself to the bathroom, she was worried about the baby. That’s all she had to say. I was on my way. As it wasn’t tax season, I went over and played nurse, cleaning, making soup, playing with the baby and generally nursing my desperately ill daughter. During the day, her husband came home with the same thing. 

I saw the writing on the wall, and decided to get out of Dodge. That apartment was a petri-dish of germs. In my ultimate wisdom, I decided to take Baby Emma home with me for a few days. She had already had the bug, and she and I were the only ones well enough to make it to the car.

At home, I gloried in my grandmothering skills. I got the baby to sleep and then went to bed myself, exhausted. Around midnight, I woke up feeling strange. Several trips to the bathroom later, I realized I was not going to be able to take care of Baby Emma. I could imagine her starving in the port-a-crib while I dragged myself back and forth to the bathroom. 

I called my daughter at 4 a.m. to tell her of the situation. She said she thought she was well enough to come after her. Two hours later, my front door opened, my daughter yelled from the living room that she was picking up the baby and going home. She waved from the bedroom door and disappeared. It was not a good day for the “best grandmother” award.

Years have gone by. This week when both daughters called to say that their youngest children were running fever, I gave lots of advice. I felt really sorry for them. I made sure that the mothers would promised to take them to the doctor. I said I’d call back later … and I did. And … I kept my distance. Who needs a trophy if it means getting the flu?