CHILDREN / A second parenthood: The powerful emotions evoked by her first grandson took Leni O'Connell by surprise: looking after baby has all the pleasure and none of the pain when you are a grandma

EXACTLY a year ago I held my newborn grandson for the first time. As Blake nestled in my arms, his crumpled face and fragile body evoked the sweetest, tenderest emotions. I was overwhelmed at the passion I felt, and suddenly the years dropped away to the time when I had first gazed on his father with a similar intensity.

How could this be? No one had warned me that I might feel like this, a close re-run of motherhood. The fierce protectiveness that ensures our survival is supposed to be the prerogative of parents; who said that grandmothers could take part? Or grandfathers, for that matter?

Possibly I hadn't read the right magazines for the advice I needed: I had no idea what to expect at any stage in the process of having grandchildren. Naturally, when our son, Danny, telephoned with the news that we were to

become grandparents, we were thrilled and excited. But after that we were in unexplored territory, tentative in each step and anxious to make no mistakes.

There were few models I could use for how to be a grandmother. Of my own grandmothers, one I never met one and the other was a classic Edwardian with a pungent smell who was indifferent towards me. She lived with my family briefly until she accused my mother of stealing and pawning her clothes. She left soon after that. She was certainly not a good example.

Then there was my own mother. She was in her mid-forties when I had my two babies, while my young brothers were still in short trousers. She had borne five children, so infants were less of a novelty for her than they are for me, especially as my younger son, Seth, is now 27.

My mother was then a busy head teacher. She was and is a good grandmother, and helped out when she was able, but she had her own domestic and professional preoccupations. Now retired, she never forgets a grandchild's birthday and takes pleasure in their visits and news. Becoming a great-grandmother has proved a rare delight.

Was she to be my model? In many respects yes, but I wanted more. I wanted to be close to Blake as he grew up, so that he would trust me, and I could care for him in his parents' absence. With his mother, Rose, returning to full-time teaching when he was three months old, I wanted to be there in emergencies, and he would have to be familiar and happy with me for that to work. I am lucky that my work as a freelance writer gives me the necessary flexibility to be with Blake.

I thought my help might be useful, so before Blake was born I offered to be available in those early weeks. Rose took this up and I visited for a day each week to do what I could. He developed a painful and distressing colic and needed a lot of physical attention, soothing cuddles, back rubbing and long walks in his pram. I was able to give a little relief to his parents during this difficult time.

Not since my own children were small have I had the pleasure of cuddling and kissing a baby, cooing and gurgling with him, and glowing with pride at every scrap of progress he makes. I remember being inhibited at expressing these feelings about my own children in public; it wasn't cool to be too obvious about how wonderful they were. But as a granny I just don't care, and I can say whatever I like about my darling, beautiful grandson.

Since the early days I have tried to see him every week, although this involves a 30-mile journey through London traffic. But it is worth the effort, and these days Danny often brings him to us at the weekend. I begin to miss him almost as soon as he has gone, in spite of the wreckage his limitless curiosity leaves behind.

He is exhausting, I have to admit. He misses very little of what goes on around him, and is determined to feel and test every object within his reach. He needs to be watched constantly, and even this cannot prevent the occasional tumble. When I've looked after him for a few hours or a day, I am completely exhausted and I know I couldn't be a mother again. I'm grateful to hand him back to his parents, and can then enjoy looking forward to the next visit.

Fortunately, his parents and I agree about almost everything to do with bringing up children, and I admire the strong stand they have adopted towards certain foods, especially sugar. They refuse to put sugar on his food, and give him no biscuits or sweets at all. They avoid additives and manufactured baby foods, and, as a result, he now has very sophisticated and varied tastes.

It has been easy to fit in with their choices, but even so I try to keep to my golden rule which I believe all parents of adult children should follow. Never offer or give advice unless it has been sought. It can be difficult, sometimes, to bite one's tongue, but it saves a lot of heartache later.

Other rules have evolved too: be helpful and available, do things the parents' way and don't criticise. So far I haven't been tested to the point of serious disagreement, and I hope it never happens.

Now one year old, Blake is transformed. Watching him develop from utter helplessness to this determined and very funny little boy has been an undiluted joy. His manual dexterity is amazing, his concentration span lasts longer than your average politician's, and his personal language is captivating. He has a rich, deep, infectious laugh which compels you to join in. He is an affectionate, lovable and infinitely rewarding companion.

I have learnt a great deal over the past year, and soon it will be put to the test again: Blake will have a new cousin, when Seth and his wife, Jan, present us with our second grandchild next month.

(Photograph omitted)