The news that Katrin is pregnant pleasantly surprises me. In that moment, a light joy seems to spark in my heart, a soft glow that warms my soul, but along with it comes a quiet, almost imperceptible anxiety — because this is such an important and serious step in the life of a family, like a new chapter opening with unpredictable events. Of course, I want everything to be by the rules, for life to go as it should: first the wedding, then the children. That seems right to me, the foundation of a strong and reliable union, a kind of sturdy base on which happiness and confidence in the future are built.
But the main thing is that my son never loses his smile. He is truly happy next to her — that happy spark in his eyes says everything without words, as if his entire soul shines with joy and peace. They never leave each other's side, as if nothing else exists around them, no worries or problems — only them, together, as one. Watching them, I feel how deeply in love they are, how this love fills them with energy and light, how it binds their hearts with an invisible thread. This warmth spreads to me too, making my heart beat a little faster with tenderness, as if I become part of their happiness.
Katrin is a good mother — I can see that, watching how she behaves with my granddaughter. In her caring gestures, in that gentle, tender look she gives the child, genuine love and attention show through, impossible to fake or hide. So I have no complaints about her — on the contrary, I feel deep respect and even gratitude that my son found a woman who knows how to love and protect, even though I was against her at first. This gives me calm and confidence that my family will be in reliable hands.
I am curious about who will come next. The girl confidently claims it will be a boy — that's exactly how she feels, as if she already knows in advance, as if her heart already hears the tiny beats of a life not yet born. I, however, don't want to read the tea leaves, deciding simply to wait until the baby arrives, and then find out for sure, without giving in to guesses and assumptions.
But there is one problem. Katrin has heart issues. My son worries deeply for his beloved, and he keeps an almost round-the-clock vigil by the pregnant woman. His anxiety is so strong and deep that it seems he is ready to forgo sleep for nights, just to make sure everything is fine, not to miss a single breath or movement of hers. Honestly, these worries amuse me — I think he exaggerates the problem, that there's no need to hover around the girl as if she is a fragile porcelain vessel that could break with one clumsy move.
Katrin herself is not particularly against such attention. Of course, she likes that everyone around her runs, cares, shows tenderness and affection, as if she is a queen in her own little kingdom. This creates a special atmosphere around her — almost royal, where every gesture and word is filled with care and warmth.
We do not feud — our communication is more like friendship, respect, and mutual understanding, despite our differences in views and worries. However, that does not mean I should agree that she is almost mortally ill. All of this is essentially exaggerated, and it irritates me slightly. Many pregnant women faint in the first months, but no one makes such a fuss around them — it seems excessive and even a little theatrical to me.
I have to keep these thoughts to myself — not voice my discontent. Let them do what they want, as long as I'm not dragged into their worries and fuss. Maxim sometimes asks me to come to their home and watch over his girlfriend. I do not refuse, but I do not run around the pregnant woman either, giving more time to my granddaughter, who also needs care and attention, and to whom I try to give my love and warmth.
I honestly like Katrin's grandmother. I even like her more than her granddaughter. A good woman — intelligent, with refined manners, always composed and polite. It is obvious she loves her granddaughter and has done a lot over the years for her and her great-granddaughter. Her eyes carry wisdom and tenderness, giving me the sense that our family is in safe hands, that there is someone to rely on, who will preserve warmth and peace amid all the changes and worries.
Mary.
The little girl, though active like her father in childhood, behaves well — full of energy, like a small whirlwind, full of life and motion, yet remarkably obedient and serene, as if a little wisdom lives inside her, understanding when to slow down. She can be left alone in a room for up to ten minutes without fuss or noise — she quietly goes about her business, like a little adult who knows how to find interest and joy on her own. In these moments, her gaze shows deep focus and astonishing calm — as if the girl is immersed in her own special world, filled with joy and magic.
She enjoys keeping herself occupied with games. Sometimes she draws or colors, immersing herself in a world of bright colors and imagination with such enthusiasm and ease, as if nature itself inspires her to create; sometimes she plays with dolls, talking to them as if they are real friends, showing incredible tenderness and care that touches the heart deeply and makes even the strictest adults smile. Every movement of hers exudes genuine joy and lively curiosity about the world — the pure innocence of childhood that warms the heart.
I love spending time with her — every moment with Mary brings joy and warmth, like a sunbeam gently illuminating everything around. During this time, her parents calm down and begin to trust me fully with the girl, and this trust is very important to me — I feel a deep responsibility and, at the same time, pride, as if I have been entrusted with the most precious treasure.
I am even allowed to take Mary home without accompaniment, which means they trust me and know that I will care for her properly — with love, patience, and attention.
Today, while Maxim and Katrin are mostly busy with each other, I ask to take my granddaughter until tomorrow. They happily agree, and this decision warms my heart even more — seeing the family trust each other, as if an invisible thread of love binds us all into one whole.
The girl, together with her mother, packs a little backpack with her clothes for changing. It contains coloring books, lots of pencils and markers — everything needed for creativity and fun, so she will never be bored. They hand me her favorite toy — the very one she cannot sleep without, a small symbol of comfort and security, which is always with her. It feels like passing on a little treasure, full of memories and affection, and I cherish it with special love, sensing that in this moment a special bond forms between us.
Holding her hand, we head to the taxi. I open the doors and let her in, then climb in after her, feeling warm excitement and tenderness spread through my chest. We arrive home in less than twenty minutes, and I already feel a light thrill and joy — I am about to spend the entire evening and night with my granddaughter, immersing myself in her world, so pure, sincere, and full of little wonders.
I will keep her until about tomorrow lunchtime, so she will spend the night with me today. This means a lot to me — a chance to be close, to feel her breath nearby, and to care for her like a mother, giving her warmth and protection on this special evening.