Not only am I an un-fun grandma - I'm somewhat incompetent. And impatient with new-fangled baby stuff in a way that is eerily reminiscent of my late mother. Needed a few moments of deep concentration to spring Maddie from her carrier; couldn't quite get Lily's Pampers on right; managed to snap Maddie's PJs crooked no matter how I tried. Caught myself yodeling, "Don't touch that - it's Waterford." Come on, my mother had more patience than that.
I used to be so easy going. There was a time that I wouldn't be even slightly dismayed by a leaky diaper and leaky sippy cup on the couch that had just had its slipcovers washed in the wake of a leaky dog. I'm still rational, but shocked at how annoyed I can get. Maybe after several decades of kids around the house I just want the goofy luxury of leaving my Waterford jelly jar on a surface that is not seven feet off of the floor. Maybe my fingers are too arthritic at 6:30am to finesse a quick change. I used to be a contender. Now? Not so much.
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