Whither the Proud Parent?

Someone's perfect grandchild.

I have often mentioned my fascination with how a doctor can be your gynecologist for eons, and then when you get pregnant he morphs into your obstetrician. You no longer call him your gynecologist, and nobody else does either, he is your obstetrician and that is that. His whole concern in life is that baby inside you: He tells you what to eat for the baby and to rest in bed for the baby and don't gain too much wait for the baby. Forget asking him about anything else. But right after you give birth, like a minute later, the doc magically turns back into your gynecologist and has nothing to do with the baby, and some staffer is immediately dispensed to find a pediatrician to check out the newborn.

Similarly, the very same thing happens when grandchildren arrive on the scene. Right up until that little one is born, we hear news about their son or daughter from the proud parents. "My son just graduated, my daughter got a job, my son is getting married, my daughter is pregnant," etc. We see pictures of the children as they grow and prosper. Then the grandchild comes along and it's like the kids died. You never see or hear about them again. All the photos are of the baby, the baby, the adorable baby, oh here's another one, now there are two babies, and then three. But never another word about sons or daughters.

The epitome of this trend showed up on my Facebook page today. A woman I knew back in high school posted pictures of a cute little baby nestled in the arms of an adult woman and adult man. The caption underneath read, "My adorable grandson Ben, with his parents."

I had to ask if she were related to his parents in some way. After all, perhaps the child had been kidnapped or given up for adoption. I did not want to assume, because you know what happens then, but you'd think she might have mentioned which of her adorable grandson's parents had once been her own adorable child.