God heals wounds with small babies!

I have just fallen in love for the fifth time in my life. Seriously in love that is!

The first time it happened to me was across a crowded court room when I first set eyes upon my husband who was the Senior Police Officer in a case in which I was defending. I knew immediately that I was going to marry him but that is a story for another time! The second, third and fourth times were in a delivery room all of my own. I have over the years fallen in and out of like with my own three bundles but never out of love. But only days ago a feeling gripped me that I had never expected, had flatly denied would happen, and has turned me, (a menopausal old bag who shies away from small children at social gatherings or in crowded supermarkets) into a jellied mess.

Some years ago, we moved our kids lock stock and barrel across the Channel and installed them into the French Education system to escape some of the things that we had come to miss about not-so-sunny Blighty. Why therefore did it take me by surprise that my eldest boy met and fell in love with a french girl, horror of horrors? To cut a very long story short, another one for another day, the cranky menopausal old bag decided that she was simply not good enough for my first born, and we have therefore had a rocky relationship to say the least. The news that she had fallen pregnant therefore sent me into a complete paddy.

Friends both sides of the water told me that the new arrival would heal wounds. What complete nonsense!!! When the call came on Saturday last telling us that they had given birth to a little 8 pound 3 ounce girl, with 10 fingers and toes and everything where it was supposed to be, I did not rush to the hospital but told my son that I would like to come and see her. I am not an uneducated woman. I have a whole host of O’ levels, A’ levels , a degree and other exams necessary to go out into the world to represent the great and good following their various and often murderous criminal activities. However I now realise that I am a stupid woman.

Laurie, my son’s partner would have had every right to deny me entry to the life of her small bundle of joy. I had not treated her with respect before the baby was born and in truth I had no right to march in there and demand my rights as a grandmother. But she was gracious and giving and as I stared into the small plastic bassinette in that immaculately clean French Hospital room something happened that I can not even put into words. As I picked up my tiny grand-daughter and snuggled her sweet smelling head she curled her tiny finger around mine and it happened. My heart exploded with pure joy. Any issues that I had ever had with my son and his partner melted away. This was the next generation. This was the first beating heart hopefully of many to come that was going to ensure that my life has not been lived in vain.

The following morning we could not get to the hospital fast enough and of course she had by then started to really arouse from her rude arrival which in reality turned my 21 year old son from a boy into a man. My wonderful husband has not been as verbose as I, and has quietly sat and fed the baby with a bottle (very french) with the same look in his eyes as he first had in that hospital in London 21 years ago. That he will make a wonderful Grandad I have no doubt. If I close my eyes the sweet smell of her head which has logged somewhere in my brain appears miraculously in my nostrils. I have for the first time been able to go shopping with my teenage daughter and we have not argued about which shops we should visit. We are no longer interested in cropped tops which will cause a fight (will show your tummy) or sensible and comfortable shoes which will also cause a fight (not glamorous enough and grannie like!) We visit Baby Neuf, Maman Bebe and any other shop which stocks tiny exquisite clothes or toys good enough for our baby girl.

So I have realised. God heals wounds with small babies. I am not a religious person particularly but how can you experience the marvel of a new child and not think that something up there must have had a hand in our creation! I have been lucky enough to have been allowed into the life of a child who has made me feel whole. She has made me understand that the natural order of things is the right way. I feel ashamed when I think back to my thoughts when I discovered the news of the pregnancy and recognise that I have a lot of humble pie to eat along the way to remain a part of this beautiful child’s life. I am now utterly determined that I will master the language beyond the ability to make sense in the tax office or the ability to have an evening with the assistance of my french friends filling in the missing words like a game of Charades. Why? Because she is French by birth, and I owe it to her to be able to understand fully what she is telling me that makes her tick when she is able to speak, and her babblings before she is so able. I will go out of my way to be with her only when it is appropriate and not get in the way when they need time on their own as the family of three. I will stop myself from thinking how I could possibly get away with packing a bag and moving away from my big house into a small corner of her nursery.

We are all, at times, stupid people. The most educated amongst us are often incapable of looking beyond the end of their nose! I have witnessed that time and time again in many a Court of Law. I learned my trade the hard way alongside men with posh voices who looked down on me because I was a Northerner, from a very ordinary background, and worse a woman with blonde hair trying my best to make it as a Barrister. In spite of that, and in spite of all of the hard times that I have encountered in almost three decades as a Barrister I have made it my life, having my three children along the way taking three weeks off work each time, to prove to the world that I was able in spite of being a woman. And yet, maybe because it was learned behavior, although I do not seek excuses, I behaved that same shameful way towards my son’s partner. Had she not been so gracious I may well have missed the opportunity of a lifetime.

So if there is any lesson to be learned from my stupid behaviour it is that age old biblical saying. Do unto others…. It is not a difficult lesson to learn. Those that have ignored it have made work for me for the past 29 years I suppose. But it is a lesson to be learned by all of us in our daily lives. We all have parts of our lives and our families that are dysfunctional. We can carry that on to the next generation or we can grow up and learn from the tiny curled finger which arrives into the world functional and whole.

I still cannot bring myself to say the ‘G’ word. My own mother was a grandmother at the age of 46 yet when I look back at photos she seemed old even then. I have settled on the word “Mamie” which is a glorious french word which does not make me feel old and which may yet make me less cranky towards that small child in Carrefour! Only time will tell.

Written by: Stella Reynolds