Grandchild is proof that life to last another generation

'We're grandparents!" the sophisticated couple exclaimed in almost perfect unison. Their delirium was palpable.

I was reminded, once again, that grandparenthood makes giddy fools of us all.

Both of these new grandparents had written books, traveled the world, tasted the finest wines. But nothing - absolutely nothing - prepared them for meeting a creature no larger than a sack of flour who happens to have his grandfather's chin and, if this can be determined at two weeks, his grandmother's hands.

Photos of the little fellow came out within seconds, and of course, this new inhabitant of Earth had that look of raw newness, the kind that only a parent - or grandparent - finds beautiful.

But we "oohed" and "aaahed" on cue. We, too, have known that crazy pride, and we, too, have inflicted those snapshots of day-old, wrinkled, red-faced little creatures on others.

It's hard to put into words just how transformative an experience this is. But when it hits, it hits hard.

New grandparents smile more. They get misty often. They become dazed wanderers in an exotic, foreign, but altogether wonderful land.

This is life's bonus. A second chance to get it right, something most of us ruefully admit we didn't always do the first time around.

Now we have license to become the transmitters of history, the teachers, the guides. Never mind that our adult kids pay us no mind, ignoring our fountain of wisdom. This new generation looks, listens, and thinks we're terrific. Nice change of pace.

Who wouldn't bask in all the emotional excesses that seem to define grandparenthood?

Who wouldn't celebrate the indescribable texture of a baby's skin, the pure blue of a pair of innocent eyes, the profound pleasure of a tiny hand in yours?

Yes, there is much to rejoice in when grandparenting is fresh and new. And here's even better news: It keeps getting better.

Just when you think you're at the best stage of all, along comes the next one to prove that, indeed, there is more joy to be had in this life. There is no moderation in this love. It's all-consuming, totally irrational, and for those very reasons, absolutely splendid.

As a parent, I marveled at the flight of time. As a grandparent, I mourn it.

"How can she be 10?" I asked myself 10 years ago as I watched a granddaughter blow out her birthday candles. "How can he be two inches taller than he was last week?" I demanded when I saw that an 11-year-old grandson nearly reached my shoulder.

Now they're both in college. How did that happen?

So along with all the delight, there is semi-confusion, as the years of this magnificent experience race by in a blur. Yet through the haze, when I'm with the youngest of our seven grandchildren, who have reached double-digit birthdays, I can see faint images of the men and women they will become.

Grandchildren are an affirmation of life's longing for itself and the flow of the generations.

No, we can't hold back the tides of time.

But we can rejoice in each stage of grandparenthood. There's nothing quite as marvelous as knowing that out in the world there are children of our children.

And whether they're playing hopscotch or softball, or studying Platonic Realism in college, I plan to be part of it all for as long as I can.

Sally Friedman is a writer in Moorestown