There was once a baby named Benjamin who laid on my sofa. So tiny, so new, so sweet.
I loved Ben, as I have loved all of my grandbabies.
But Ben wasn't so sure about me.
Whenever I held him, he screamed. Screamed.
He did not feel that way about everyone. He loved Aunt Kati. In fact, I may have been the only one who elicited such distrust. So I let Ben have his space, and smiled at him and talked with him from afar.
Somewhere along the way, Ben decided that Gran could be trusted. Now we are fast friends. We sit beside one another at dinner each Sunday. We read stories together. He brings his pajamas to me so that I can dress him for bed before he leaves on Sunday evenings. And I can almost always get a hug or a cuddle or a big grin.One-and-a-half-year-old Ben