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Out comes his smartphone. He scrolls, scrolls, scrolls. Finally, he gurgles with pleasure.

There she is on the screen — his first grandchild, a continent away in Seattle, but front and center in his life.

I gurgle along with him. Yes, she sure is beautiful. Yes, oh, yes, she clearly looks like the grandfather who is holding the phone.

But what I’m really noticing is how jealous I am.

My wife and I have two adult children, but no “grands.” Of course, that could change some day, and probably will.

But for now, I listen to the newborn tales of my first-time grandparent friends — “she perked up when they played Beethoven’s Fifth for her!” “She said something that sounds a lot like Mama!” — and I feel pangs.

When I imagine being a grandparent, however, it isn’t so much about the first weeks of the child’s life. Mostly, I want a do-again of life at about the age of eight — a romp through the activities that I remember so well from the exploits of my own kids, more than a quarter of a century ago.

The piano recitals and plays. The soccer and baseball games. The huddles over homework. The car rides when I would explain that the sun goes down every night, but amazingly, it comes up again the next morning.

If parenthood is about providing, grandparenthood is about teaching. You’ve gotten out of bed for all these years, old fellow (or old gal). You’ve faced down monsters and dragons. You’ve won a little and lost a little.

Who better to take a grandchild by the hand, clear one’s throat, and begin: “When I was your age…”?

Of course, to get a grandchild to an eighth birthday, the family has to get that child past his or her first two weeks. For most of recorded time, that meant that grandparents were front and center with basic help.

They spelled the exhausted parents. They handled shopping and cleaning for a while. They changed dozens of diapers. They gave advice and emotional support.

But in the 21st century, some parents are declining that help in the days right after the birth. Here are grandparents, pining to be involved. But the parents say that they want to “bond” with their new arrival without anyone else around to distract.

Tension can follow very quickly.

The other night, my wife was on the phone with a friend who had just welcomed her first grandchild. The labor had been long and arduous. But now everyone was safely home in the family’s New York apartment.

My wife asked how it was going. Not so well, her friend said.

The new mother (her daughter) was in tears — a combination of fatigue and the realization that there were no smiling nurses to help any more.

“So aren’t you going to go to New York to help?” my wife asked.

No, said her friend. I’ll go when they invite me.

Hmmm. Maybe this grandparent business isn’t so simple.

Then there’s my friend Bob. His grandson, age three and a half, is a total heartthrob (I’ve seen the smartphone pictures).

But Grandpa Bob has inadvertently created tension in the family by being too good a grandparent.

He showed me a video. There’s little Ezra, all sincerity the way preschoolers can sometimes be. “You’re my best Gwampa,” he says. “I like you a lot better than my other Gwampa.”

Hmmm. Maybe this grandparent business isn’t so seamless.

And what about the third rail of family politics — money?

My friend Jason and his wife are about to welcome their first grandchild. Jason has done very well in business. He has more money than he needs. So he and his wife decided to set up a college fund for Mr. or Ms. About-to-be-born.

The about-to-be parents didn’t like the idea. “We’d really like some new furniture,” their daughter said. “Why don’t you give us the money for that instead?”

Hmmm. Maybe this grandparent business isn’t so placid.

And yet…

How wonderful would it be to heft a little ball of humanity on one’s shoulder, to burp him/her carefully (yes, I still remember how), and to sing whatever dopey song popped into my head?

How excellent would it be to hold up a grandchild to his/her grandmother and say: “You know, we’re the ones who indirectly made this happen.”

How terrific would it be to pore over every detail of that first pediatrician’s report — and to see clearly, 90 years into the future?

Bonding mania will always be with us. So will family strife and money disagreements.

But so will preparation. I am already practicing my scroll, scroll, scroll. “Let me show you a picture of a very beautiful new person,” I say in my dreams.

Bob Levey is a national award-winning columnist.