Nana Post

Besides the post "Things heard on the way to the hospital" I have not blogged much about our 4.5 month old grandson, Max Rhiley. (The "h" is not silent. Go ahead and try that out.)

That is because sometimes certain things are just too big, too ginormous to lay out there for public consumption.

Because a kajillion people read this, don't ya know.

Besides the fact that Max is indeed quite large (16 lbs, 84th percentile for height...length?m 82nd percentile for weight.) our love for him is enormous and I have no words.

Almost.

Notice how I was able to toss out baby facts and figures all willy-nilly? I don't have a clue what those even mean.

I just know that we love him beyond anything. From his baldy head to his monkey toes, we adore this boy. We have this, like, AMAZING connection. (I apologize. Some of "The Bachelor" came spilling out. And I don't even watch that show.)

Sometimes we have been so filled up with love for him that we bust out in speaking in tongues. But, maybe that is just our goofy baby talk. Not sure.

I am sure that I could gush on and on about our love for this sweet, sweet baby, how good he is, how precious, how no other grandparents in the history of the universe have ever come close to loving a grandson the way we do. Don't argue with me. It is the truth,

We were able to have him up at our house a couple mornings ago. It was a gorgeous, perfect fall day, when the sky is an almost electric blue and the sun is shining warmly down. Rod, Max and I were sitting on the back deck enjoying the perfection of the day and the baby. Rod was playing gently with Max, letting him grab and hold his big Grampa fingers. As Rod held out his hand with Max's dimpled baby fingers clinging to his finger, he mused aloud, " Won't it be great when these tiny little fingers can wrap around a hunting rifle?" Then he smiled at me with all the joy and hope he was feeling inside shining out of his eyes.

Well.

Really?

Hmmm.

Not quite what I was thinking about, but okay, then.

Oh, and I was just kidding about the "h". You don't really have to call him Max Rhhhhiley. Unless you want to.