Facing ageing and a new role was deeply uncomfortable – but robustness and hope helped me adapt
I was 47, shaking and with tears streaming down my face as I held a perfect baby girl in my arms. My body was zinging with oxytocin, the bonding hormone, in response to her smell and touch, those little breaths – it felt as if she was my newborn baby. She wasn’t. She was my first grandchild. My daughter’s daughter. I’d become a mum at 21, she was 26…
The following evening, for my best friend’s landmark birthday, I had made an effort –hair done, party frock, high heels – and I stepped confidently into the room. The first person I saw shouted: “Hi Grandma!”
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