I think that most grandparents will agree that the most beautiful thing in the world is their grandchild.
This new person, my grandson. A mix of his two parents, four grandparents, and so on, all the generations gone before him. I see lines and expressions that I recognize from present day relatives on my side of the family. In so many ways he looks just like his uncle, my firstborn. Then, a twist of the mouth, and there's my mother. A look, and I see myself. His profile shows a hint of his mum's cousins. He has his mother's toes. All those people, family lines, generations, passing on their ancient genes. They all come together in this little boy. And yet he is himself. Someone new, someone fresh, just starting out in life.
A grandchild is life's dessert.
My daughter, his mother, this once a rebel child, has now developed into the most awesome, wonderful mother, so in love with her child. I never tire of watching the two interact.
Then there's these two. The grandfather, a miraculous leukemia survivor, who's only regret when he was diagnosed was that he might not get to see any of his grandchildren. Now he's the little one's big hero. No-one else will do if he's around.
And I absolutely adore him too.