Dear Finn,
Here we are at the end of your first week. I'm your Granda. I know, in time, that will sound natural to you, but to one or two right now, it seems a bit odd. Why not Grandad, Grandpa or any other connotation? But not in Northern Ireland where I come from, born, bred and proud to be from that part of the world. Granda is a very common tradition. I didn't know my father's father but I did know and love my mother's father, Granda Tommy Millar. He was a wee man with a stammer but a lovely singing voice. I'll lullaby you with 'his' Nellie Dean in the not too distant future. Northern Ireland. Belfast. Strange places full of humour and love and hospitality, but also other stuff that need not concern you. I'll tell you all about it as time goes by.
By the way, did I mention that you are beautiful? When I held you in my arms the day after you were born, I can't even begin to describe how I felt. I couldn't stop looking looking at you as you slept. It was a wonderful feeling that would be impossible to top. I looked at your perfect face, tiny nose, hands, fingers, feet and toes. Awesome. Occasionally you moved and squirmed as if to confirm: 'I'm here.' I could see and feel that, but thanks for letting me know.
We have an adventure ahead of us and I will do everything I can to do my absolute best for you. You have a wonderful Mum and Dad, and all of us other supporting family members will cherish your every moment as you grow and develop.
Love you, Finn. Can't wait to spend every possible second getting to know you, getting to talk to you, to read to you, to play with you, and anything else I can do.
Granda Joe.
XXXXX
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