Topher and I are both lucky to have two grandparents—his paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather—in their early eighties who our child will call “great”. We both loved sharing the news with each of them and I’d say that in the months that have followed, their advice has been, well, the greatest.

Topher’s grandmother, whom we call Mimi, is the mother of seven, including a set of twins. She is grandmother to eleven and great-grandmother to one, soon to be two.

Mimi is the picture of class, her hair always perfectly coiffed and her wardrobe tucked and buttoned up just right. Her favorite colors are pink and Kelly green. When she speaks, she holds your attention with a slow, purposeful, articulate presentation of thoughts, which often make you chuckle or outright chortle unexpectedly in the end.

When we called Chicago one night in August to tell Mimi she’d be Mimi the Great, we talked with her for a long while. Before Topher passed the phone to me she said, “Well, Topher, I’m so happy for you, and I’m so happy for Tara. But mostly, I’m happy for me.”

My turn came to say hello and the first thing I said to this woman who had been where I am so many times was, “Mimi, I can’t believe you did this seven times! I need some advice!”

She replied, “Oh honey, I don’t have any to give. The only thing I can say is give that child a lot of love. That’s it.”

Grampy, my grandfather, is one of the wittiest, most intelligent people I know. He’s been to hell and back with health troubles in recent years, and has rebounded in a way that proves he is the son of my great-grandmother, Margaret, who lived on her own in a two-story New England house until she was 92.

Gramp was with us at the dinner table in August for my dad’s birthday when Toph toasted “to new birthdays”, letting everyone know we were expecting in March. There was lots of hootin’ and hollerin’, but Gramp was quite at the head of the table, eating his steak and buttered corn.

“Did you hear the news, Dad,” my aunt Susan asked.

“Yeah, I heard it. I had a hunch,” Gramp said.

The next day, after we’d packed up the car to head back to Philadelphia, everyone gathered in the driveway, which is customary for departures in my family. Gramp gave me a big, tight hug and said, “Good luck with your new adventure!” I looked at him with wide eyes and probably something of a trepidatious smile.

“And remember,” he added in an assured, confident tone, “this has been done before.”

It was like he saw right through both Topher and me, to the core of our nervous pre-parent existence and poured a solvent of common sense and practicality on our anxieties.

We’ve been reading a lot of books and articles since July 2, 2009 and the majority has been incredibly helpful. But when I think of the few pieces of advice Mimi and Grampy the Greats have given us, I wonder if they aren’t the ones who should be published and widely read instead.

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