The author with his newborn grandson. During the marches, riots, toppling of statues, curfews and coronavirus, the phone rang. It was our oldest son, Jacob, telling us he thought his wife, Anna, was in labor. I asked him how he knew, and he said, “When we were in bed watching TV, a tiny hand reached out from under the covers for the remote control.”
When I heard “in labor,” it was as if my world skidded to a complete halt. For almost nine months, like bounty hunters, we’d been tracking this kid’s every move on sonogram photos. This was an in your face — with a new face — “Oh, my God” moment. We are being called upon to witness a miracle.
And then the greatest magic trick of them all: “First you don’t see him, now you do.” Six-plus hours later, Anna gave birth to a boy — their first child and our first grandchild. The mazel tovs started to pour in. Every grandparent we talked to said the same thing, “Welcome to the club. You’ll see it’s the best club in the world.”
If only this baby knew how much happiness he already has brought into this broken world. This baby is so important that, as the pandemic rages, family members are risking their lives by flying in to get a firsthand look at all 6 1/2 pounds of him. My religious friends are asking, “When’s the bris?” and my secular friends are asking, “What’s his name?” In my secular world, I’m one of the first to have a grandchild. In my religious world, I’m one of the last.
The young parents have hardly slept. They both look like they have exophthalmos (the medical term for protruding or bulging eyeballs).
Babies are for the young. My wife and I are in our 60s. If my wife gave birth to a baby a week ago, by now, one or both of us would be in a coma. Buckle up kids, it’s payback time. I hate to say it, but it makes me laugh. It makes most grandparents laugh. Now it’s your turn to get a taste of what all parents have gone through since babies were invented. My son complained that the baby screamed for hours without stopping. Keep screaming, little guy. Rock the walls. This is your time. Blow your horn. As grandparents, we smile and say, “What a set of lungs on that kid.”
I started to feel this huge gush of emotion. I was being infused with new love.
When we noticed that the new parents’ eyes were starting to glaze over and they began to take on that suicidal look, and as the other tenants in their apartment building secretly were gathering enough signatures so they could serve the new parents with an eviction notice, we “club members” went home to our nice peace and quiet.
Next day back at their place, they asked if I wanted to hold the baby. It’s been 24 years since I held a newborn. I took the baby and cradled him in the crook of my arm. At first, I didn’t feel anything. In fact, I felt numb. But I just kept looking at him and staring at this beautiful, new face. I’m enamored by his new soft skin. It went on like this for a few days. I had hardly any feeling except numbness. It slightly worried me.
Then it happened. While I was on the treadmill exercising, I felt wobbly and unsure of my footing. A gush of sadness and heaviness came over me. My old life was being excised from my soul and a new life was being injected. And then the dam broke. I started to cry. Deep, deep sobbing. I started to feel this huge gush of emotion. I was being infused with new love. That’s startling. I started to feel real love. He had entered my heart. I had to step off the treadmill and hold on.
When my wife found out that they named the baby after her father, she, too, got weak in the knees. That’s a big honor. Now I think we are just beginning to understand what they mean by, “Welcome to the club.”
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.
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