Grandpa

When I called my father from Moscow to tell him I was pregnant he answered:
-So? Do you want me to congratulate you or something?
And he hanged up. Anybody listening would have thought his teenage daughter was giving him terrible news. I was in fact almost thirty and living together with Martin for seven years.

With time, my father became a proper grandpa. Don't buy him legos! That's my job! And to some extend he realized being mother does not mean necessarily changing the briefcase for the diapers bag (now you can get really cute bags to carry your laptop AND the diapers).

At the end, with only an unavoidable dosage of drama, Dani's grandpas and grandmas adapted to their new roles. Some things are difficult to swallow though:

The fact that Daniel already speaks some languages better than them.

Daniel: agua, agua

Czech granny: aqua, aqua. Spanish for voda is aqua, isn't it?

The fact that Daniel not always speaks the same language

Daniel: autooo

Spanish granny: Auto IS Spanish! Come on, dear, granma will buy you a nice red auto

Or the fact that sometimes Daniel does not speak a language

Daniel: netá

Spanish great auntie: no está, no está, papá is not there. You see? He speaks Spanish!

But if there is a grandparent that really made an effort to accept the foreign fifty percent of his grandchild is my father.

Spanish grandpa: I created a folder with his pictures. "Daniel Caní"

Hats off for my dad. I don't think there is another member of my family that remembers my son's surname, leave alone trying to pronounce it: Knýř.