Katherine Lawrence 凯瑟琳·劳伦斯 　　I wear a pin the size of a beer cap on the lapel of my jean jacket that reads, "New Grandma." The pin was a gift yet I wonder if sporting it will help me ease into a role I never considered. 　　I opted for motherhood over 40 years ago; grandmother-hood opted for me. 　　I never gave grandparenting much thought. Never until my daughter and son-in-law announced their pregnancy. 　　As a teenager, my mother would threaten me with a witch's curse: "One day I hope you have a daughter just like you." It took that other society, motherhood, for me to understand that my mother did not wish to curse me so much as she wished to protect me. She hoped one day I would have a child so that I might know, in the marrow of my bones, how much I was loved, that she would do anything in her power to keep my sister and me safe. 　　My mother died when my daughters, her only grandchildren, were 24 and 22 years old. Mom was more affectionate with them than she was with me or my sister. I feel grateful that my children grew up knowing how it felt to be wrapped in her arms for a pillowy hug, that they recall the lily-of-the-valley scent of her perfume when they visit a shaded springtime garden. 　　What occurs to me now is that becoming a grandmother has expanded my heart, just as friends promised and I greeted with the skepticism of a late-to-the-table grandmother. Yet they are right. My silly heart fills like a mainsail as I hold my grandson, then billows again as I witness my daughter marvel at the crying, nursing, sleeping infant in her arms. 　　Neither my daughter nor I speak of this change in the weather of our hearts. Perhaps like my mother and me, we never will. For how does one describe unconditional love to the object of that love? Perhaps by leaning on melodramatic tropes best suited for bumper stickers and lapel pins: "Will walk through fire"; "Will give my life"; "Will trade my happiness for my child's sorrow." 　　I hear my ever-practical mother scoff, followed by her list of the thankless work she undertook to keep my sister and me fed, dressed and educated. She took night classes after leaving my father; she worked full-time until retirement; she lived about an inch above the poverty line, thanks to a lousy divorce settlement and the inflation that entered the 1970s economy. 　　My daughters remember her as the grandma who loved to play – card games, board games, guessing games on road trips. She taught them how to whistle with two fingers, how to cut stars from cookie dough, dry flowers, make paper and, later, how to uncork a bottle of wine and eat nachos in bed. Her lapel pin could have read "Fun Grandma." 　　Listening to my postpartum daughter as she coos and cradles her baby, watching the newly darkened depth I see in her blue eyes, I marvel at what my late mother, me and now my daughter have come to embrace – a wild love for something greater than our puny selves. 　　我的牛仔外套翻领上别了一枚啤酒瓶盖大小的胸针，上面写着：“新晋外婆”。这枚胸针是别人送我的礼物。不过，我不禁在想，以胸针示人，能否帮我慢慢适应这个我从未设想过的角色。 　　四十多年前，我选择成为一名母亲；而在当外婆这件事上，我是被选择的。 　　我从前几乎没有想过当外婆这件事，直到女儿和女婿宣布新生命已在孕育之中。 　　我十几岁时，母亲常会用一句女巫的诅咒吓唬我：“愿你以后也生一个和你一模一样的女儿。”直到我自己成为母亲，我才明白，母亲那句话并非真的想诅咒我，更多的是一种守护。她期盼我有朝一日也生个孩子，让我从骨子里体会到，自己曾被那样深爱着，她愿意尽其所能守护我和妹妹平安长大。 　　我母亲离世时，我的两个女儿——她仅有的两个外孙女——已经24岁和22岁了。母亲对待她们比当年待我和妹妹更加慈爱。我很庆幸，我的孩子们在成长过程中感受过外祖母温柔的拥抱，当她们在春日树荫下的花园里闻到铃兰花香，还能想起外祖母身上的香水味。 　　我现在恍然发觉，成为外祖母这件事让我心胸豁然开朗。朋友们早就和我说过这番话，当时我还带着一种刚当上外祖母的疑虑。但她们说得没错。怀抱外孙时，我那颗不争气的心会像主帆那样满满的；看见女儿凝视怀里那个哭闹、吃奶、安睡的小婴儿时，我的心又一次漾起暖意。 　　我没有和女儿谈到过这种心境的转变。或许，就像当年我母亲和我那样，我们永远都不会说起这件事。要怎么向被这份爱意包裹的人描述这份无条件的爱呢？或许只能用那些适合印在汽车贴纸和胸针上，而且略带夸张的短语：“愿为你赴汤蹈火”“愿为你献出生命”“愿以我的欢愉换你免受苦楚”。 　　我仿佛听见一向务实的母亲嗤笑一声，紧接着，她会细数为养活我和妹妹，供我们穿衣、读书而做的那些吃力不讨好的工作。离开我父亲之后，她去上了夜校；一直全职工作，直到退休。糟糕的离婚协议，加上20世纪70年代的通胀打击，她的生活仅能勉强维持在贫困线之上。 　　在我女儿们的记忆里，外祖母是一个爱玩的人：纸牌、桌游，还有旅途中的猜谜游戏。她教她们用两根手指吹口哨，用面团剪出星星，制作干花、造纸，后来还教她们开红酒，在床上吃玉米片。她的胸针上应该写着“爱玩的外祖母”才对。 　　听着产后的女儿轻声哄着怀中的婴儿，看着她蓝色眼眸里新添的深邃，我不由得感慨：已故的母亲、我，还有如今的女儿，我们都接纳了这份汹涌的爱意——不顾一切去爱远比渺小的自我更重要的东西。(潘晓燕译自加拿大《环球邮报》网站10月14日文章)