I had my sixteenth grandchild this evening, a pretty little girl named after two grandmothers, Hazel Bailey. Hazel Bay for short as one great grandmother has always been called Bay.

This is my birth daughter’s second child. When she had her first child Ray, it was my ninth grandchild and one of my adopted daughters who’d been with me nearly 20 years actually said to me, “I’ll bet you’re really happy about this one.”

She shocked me with that statement.

I was happy every time I had a grandchild, a little daunted to find myself with one at age 40 certainly, but I quickly figured out what a blessing it was to me. She’s a seventh grader now, that first granddaughter of mine.

Oddly enough, my birth daughter’s son expected his new baby sister to come out brown like all his other cousins which are all toddlers and babies, his playmates of choice. When she was born today we quickly sent him a picture by camera phone only to learn that he went hollering through the house yelling for his mom so that he could show her the picture of his new baby sister. He was then allowed to call his mom so that he could understand everything better.

By the time I got back home to my house this evening, glad that this wasn’t one of those call me out in the middle of the night marathons, little Ray was beside himself with excitement. He’d been at my house all afternoon with my mother, my kids and a grown kid who brought her kids over to play. Best way to distract a three and a half year old formerly only child.

At this moment, none of my other grown kids are expecting babies, a rarity in our large family, but we’ve welcomed four new baby girls in the last four months.

I find this to be so gratifying to me personally, to watch my daughters and one son raise such beautiful children. I really like being Abuelita, the youngest ones call me Beeta, pronouncing it BEET-ta. The grandbabies aren’t traumatized, don’t rage nor punch holes in my walls. They are loved and treasured like I wish all my children had been when they were born.