My parents are phenomenal grandparents. They are without a doubt my children’s favorite people. They show up to babysit with activities ready. They pick up the kids from daycare and go straight to the ice cream shop. They are the first ones to get on the floor and play cars or dress up when requested. They read the best bedtime stories and spend the extra few minutes tucking in tiny toes and kissing chubby cheeks. They’ve never missed an opportunity to spoil their grandbabies with too many toys and lots of love.

But before they were the world’s best grandparents, they were my parents first. Through all the stages I am experiencing now for myself, they were my parents. During my toddler tantrums, my childhood Disney channel obsessions, my preteen eye rolls, my high school sports commitments, my college move-in days, and a few graduations, they were my parents. And now, they are still my parents first. Before they are anything else, they are my parents.

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When they first tiptoed into the hospital room to meet their newest grandbaby, they looked at me . . . first. They checked on me, bringing in my favorite snacks and flowers, wrapping me in a hug. Because they are my parents first.

When that baby came home from the hospital, they greeted us at the door of our home. The home where they had spent the day finishing up preparations for a baby to live in upon my nervous “I don’t think we’re ready” text sent mere hours before. Because they are my parents first.

When my husband and I caught the miserable flu bug our children had had the past week but were now on the mend from and full of energy again, my parents showed up with meals, cleaning supplies, and eager hands. They not only entertained and cared for their grandbabies, but they allowed us to rest and get better. Because they are my parents first.

When the baby was in a sleep regression and I hadn’t slept three consecutive hours in the two weeks, they were there to soothe the baby through the night while I caught up on desperately needed sleep. Because they are my parents first.

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When my husband and I need a night, or week, away. When we plan a date night or vacation. They not only agree but cheer at the thought of taking care of their grandkids while we are gone. And when those babies get sick, refuse to sleep or eat their meals, or throw a temper tantrum, we don’t hear about it. Because they know that would make me feel guilty, and they want me to enjoy myself. Because they are my parents first.

My parents adore their grandchildren. They would do anything for them, but before those grandbabies showed up, they would do anything for me. And that has not changed.