We had a visitor recently. Our grandson Tommy spent three days with us, and it went quite well — until he decided to show his elders who was the boss.
Tommy is 5 months old and is as cute as our first grandchild, 2-year-old Henry. Tommy has big blue eyes, and he has reached the age where he’s taking in everything that he sees. He is mesmerized by all the people and objects around him.
His parents — our son Thomas and his wife Kayla — had asked Mary Ann to come to their home in Metairie, La., for three days the prior week. Then they came up to McComb for an engagement party last weekend, and we agreed to give the parents a couple of days off after that.
Mary Ann was Tommy’s primary caregiver. Maybe almost the exclusive caregiver, because I was at work each night till about 7 p.m.
Our son John, who has been staying with us for almost three months (that will be another column), certainly helped out his mother, but I’m sure Mary Ann did most of the work.
The last time we kept Tommy, he had a rough first night. That’s probably because he was staying in a new place and his parents weren’t there. I don’t recall the details, but I definitely remember that he signalled his disapproval of the arrangements until he got used to his new digs.
On this visit, the first two nights, Sunday and Monday, went pretty well. Especially Monday, because Mary Ann had done her research and set up a schedule that was admirable in its military precision.
On Monday, it worked to perfection. I got home in time to start his bottle at 7 p.m., and she came in to finish it and get him to bed. If I remember correctly, he slept through the night, for more than 11 hours. I’m jealous of that!
And then came Tuesday.
Once again, I gave him a 5-ounce bottle. And he was dozing off just as it began to run low. He lay in my left arm. I could see him drifting off to sleep, and was quite pleased to handle this assignment “all by my own self.”
Suddenly, with a start, he jerked awake. He looked at me in the near darkness of the room — and started crying loudly.
Mary Ann came in, and she decided to give him 2 more ounces of milk. After that, she put him to sleep, but he wasn’t having it. We could hear him crying, and after John, Mary Ann and I debated the wisdom of going to get him, we finally did.
So much for a schedule. I knew I should have made him review the list that his grandmother had put on the refrigerator door.
The little rascal stayed up until nearly 10 p.m. I guess he wanted to watch the “Dancing With the Stars” episode we had recorded. He was babbling and waving his arms. When John’s goldendoodle C.J. nosed over to him for a visit, he was feeling her coat. She yipped and scooted away when he grabbed her fur.
It got to the point where John and I thought we should call Thomas and Kayla for advice. Mary Ann was opposed; she thought we were doing everything right. Which we really were; it’s just that Tommy didn’t want to play along.
One baby was beating three adults. But finally, the Great Schedule Maker hit upon the winning solution. She put Tommy in his stroller and started pushing him slowly around the house.
After about two laps, I took over, and on my second or third lap, I could see that he was finally giving in.
I did one more lap and stopped at his crib. But I wasn’t going to put him in yet. He had not been asleep long enough. In truth, I thought about suggesting we just let him sleep in the stroller.
But after five more minutes, I lifted him out of the stroller and carefully placed him on his back in the crib. He slept right on.
It had been a rough night. But his cousin Henry had given me an even worse test two years ago, so I wasn’t panicking like I did back then.
Tommy actually delivered a valuable lesson with his late-night antics. My job may be tough, the Saints’ season may have collapsed and our political disagreements are the worst. But Mary Ann and I have two pretty fine grandsons. I’ll keep that in mind when things are difficult.
