I thought being a grandmother would be easier than being a mother. Now that I am one, it’s harder in many ways.

As I carried my tiny granddaughter down the stairs, a thought flashed through my mind that I never would have had 30 years ago.

What if I drop her?

I clutched her tight, shooed the horrifying thought out of my mind, and continued down the stairs into the kitchen to warm up the breast milk my daughter-in-law had left for us.

I breastfed my son, so I never thought about temperature, but as I boiled water to warm her bottle, I worried.

What if I burn her?

That night, I jolted out of bed several times, convinced I had slept through her crying.

What if she needed me and I didn’t hear her?

During the day, I found new disasters to imagine. I wondered what…