I have seen my granddaughter's face.

She is not due to arrive until later this month, but I have seen her -- by sonogram.

Isn't this an amazing world? As I await the birth of my first grandchild, this old granny has come face to face with advancements made over the past 35-plus years since I had my own child at age 41.

Giving birth at that age doesn't seem like such an accomplishment now, but back then it was rare ... and scary. My own father delivered hundreds of babies in his years of practicing medicine, and I remember he mentioned how "risky" a new patient's delivery would be. She was, after all, 30 years old.

That memory caused me to keep my condition unknown to him until I reached seven months. Doctors sometimes know too much. I was worried enough for everyone. No amnio, no sonogram. No tests for possible health problems for the baby. We just waited ... and hoped. We knew very little. Now, it seems, the process, if not the act of birthing, has intensified, due to knowledge.

So everything changes. I traveled to the Fetal and Women's Center in Phoenix a few weeks ago to observe what I had never seen before. I lamented the fact I had forgotten to put film in my camera, and my son looked at me and said, "Mom, they have cameras here. That's why we are here."

He was smiling and shaking his head. He has always rolled his eyes at my camera-clicking passion. He didn't understand that what I wanted was to take pictures of him sitting behind his beloved Maggie, holding her hand, stroking her forehead as she lay on the table and they shared this moment. I would be discreet. I would not embarrass them. Maggie's mother, Frani, was with us. She has four grandchildren but had never seen this procedure. We were both awestruck.

As it happened, the moment was captured for all of us on the monitor on the wall as baby Gracie was or wasn't ready for her closeup. There she was, after 20 minutes or so of unidentified movement. The miracle on the monitor. The face of a sleeping child, content in her warm surroundings and, according to my son, "pouting."

We all let out a gasp when we saw her. Drew squeezed Maggie's hand and kissed her forehead. That's the picture I wanted. As it is, I hold it in my heart, not on film, as I am sure they do.

I am learning more every day about childbirth, even in my 79th year.

My son and daughter-in-law know more than I do, even now, although the baby isn't due for several weeks. Books can inform you, but they never quite prepare you for the reality ... the miracle.

I miscarried a first child very early. I never knew if it was to be a boy or a girl. In fact, until I lost that baby I had never been driven to be a mother. I didn't feel unfulfilled not having a child ... until then. And fortunately, I was blessed with my son two years later.

My son never had a nursery, but then, neither did I. My grandchild will have more than either of us, materially. That's a good thing. I guess this will be one grandmother whose eyebrows will be constantly raised at the newness of it all, but who couldn't have more love for Gracie than I had 37 years ago when I first held my son and became a Mom ... for real. That's the miracle.

How did our babies make it without all of these gadgets? It makes one wonder how we made it to the 21st century. Or lived to tell about it.

Thank goodness I did. I am looking at a picture of Grace Elizabeth, sleeping in her mother's womb, as I write. Can you believe that?