My parents lived most of my life in the same house in Connecticut, and most of those years with the same next door neighbor, Mike. Mike and my father were friends with a twist. For years they played practical jokes on one another. Mother was more than startled to discover Mike's addition to her wreath one Christmas - the license plate begging to Let Me Tell You About My Grandchildren.
As to why this is germane in February - it isn't. I'm just late. In December our first grandchild was born. He is glorious, a complete masterpiece. All things a grandson should be, and more.
We have gazed at every toe (I get credit for those), lingered over every passing expression, oohed and aahhed over the slightest wave a hand. So far he seems to most resemble his maternal grandfather (no bad thing), arches his back and gazes like his father and my son (from under those same long lashes), has a voracious appetite (not sure who gets credit for that beyond his mom - there are plenty of candidates), and is according to his aunt, "Taking after his Mom.... a wiggle worm who always picked everything up quickly!" This last comment came after he learned to roll over at 7+ weeks.
In short we've spent hours discussing just how he fits into the family. I suspect he will carve his own place - as we all have. And I know we will be the richer for his presence.