I awoke the other day suffering from a minor case of the sniffles and, times being what they're, texted our daughter-in-law to alert her to the situation. She had planned to deliver her toddler for his semi-weekly ransacking from the den, and I wanted her to know I was feeling OK — no fever — which she could decide whether to drop The Little Guy into the petri dish we call home or keep him from harm’s way.
“I think it will be fine,” she replied. “He’s excited for any grandpa and grandma visit.”
The current pandemic has sparked an active debate about mixing vulnerable geezers like My Lovely Wife and me using their grandchildren, who may be more susceptible than public-health officials have suggested. On one side, close contact could send anyone of us to the ICU; on the other, a lack of contact could deepen our collective malaise. Ask The Little Guy’s mom — who’s been single parenting while her Marine Corps hubby toils away at Camp Pendleton — about the potential health risks versus an afternoon free of maternal responsibilities and she’ll tell you her sanity is worth considering in the equation.
It’s a conundrum that illustrates a longtime reality in a country with poor childcare options: Lots of parents depend on their elders to care for their kids. As Victoria Bissell Brown notes in the Washington Post, about 25 percent of grandparents provide regular childcare in the United States — a number that is likely underreported. “With no decent, affordable childcare system, flexible working hours, and paid sick leave, the over-65 population is propping up families all over the Usa by performing essential childcare free,” she writes. “Remove those grandparents in the family system, and we get another breakdown in our social system.”
MLW and I are more fortunate than most working grandparents in that our schedules are flexible enough to absorb a couple of weekday visits with this grandson, so we’re happy to help out even as everyone understands the potential risks.
Well, maybe not everyone.
One of the great lessons a toddler teaches those of us who hang on to comfort is that there’s nothing quite as exhilarating as taking your lifetime into your own hands. This can come as no surprise to most parents, but MLW and that i have had to relearn this truism via The Little Guy’s regular visits. Yesterday, for example, I had left him and MLW in the dining room table, where they were quietly involved in some art project. When I returned a while later, the table was encompassed by chairs and stools, where he was circumnavigating the room, one treacherous foothold at any given time.
“We were just doing some painting as he decided he needed to setup an obstacle course,” MLW explained. “I followed him around for some time and then just decided he was going to have to handle it by himself.”
And handle it, he did. It had been only when he was tottering atop a stool parked atop a chair that disaster struck. I grabbed him round the tummy while removing the stool and passed him to MLW, whereupon his toddler face scrunched up and he exploded into desperate sobs.
I’ve often wondered why young adults, who have so much life yet to live, are so willing to place themselves in harm’s way as the elderly, who’ve checked off most of life’s boxes, remain so cautious. I’d prefer to think we’re somewhat amazed that we’ve made it this far and have perhaps arrived at appreciate how thin is the thread that we’re dangling. But that’s just me. And also the current pandemic is clearly shifting the way in which we’re all thinking about the whole risk-versus-reward calculus.
Toddlers, however, appear to be immune to such calculations. Or at best that’s what occurs to me as I hoist The Little Guy toward the kitchen ceiling and watch him proudly stand on my shoulders, weaving slightly and giggling with delight.
“Whoa! Ha ha! Wheeeee!” he squeals, his tiny hands gripping my thumbs.
“Look how high up you are,” I remind him. “Be cautious.”
Bending his knees, he arcs backward, as though in a dream, and I secure him around the legs as he hangs upside down. Soon, my better judgment takes hold, and I gather him back up and plant him on solid ground. Safe for the moment.
“Up, up, Grampa!” he demands. “Higher!”
