I've been trying to get my thoughts together before writing this particular post. For those who only read my blog (and not my forum or who are not on Facebook), you aren't aware that last weekend brought more than senior prom and a beautiful daughter in a Cinderella dress.
It also brought news from our beautiful eldest daughter: she and her husband are expecting a baby in December. So, that means yours truly is going to be a grandperson! It did not come as a huge surprise -- I'd had a feeling it would be sooner rather than later -- though it seems only yesterday (instead of two years ago) that I was writing about wedding festivities.
I haven't had to deal with an infant in eighteen years so I'm feeling a little rusty. Couple that with an admission -- which I've always freely given -- that I've never been a "baby person" and it's got me a little nervous. I'm just not one of those who melts when I see a baby -- or one that wants to hold one the moment I lay eyes on it. I've been told, though, that a grandchild is a whole other ballgame -- so I'm going to embrace that idea on a wing and a prayer -- and hope that, even if I can't be a fantastic grandmother, I can be a decent one. Is that too much to ask?! Or not quite enough?!
Of course, the ideas that are occupying my head at the moment are these...
The most important is that Shannon has a healthy pregnancy and easy birth and that the baby will be healthy (and easy!) as well.
Second, I'm trying to decide what I want him or her to call me.
I'm just not one that wants to be granny or grandma or grandmother. I don't want to be Mimi or Gigi or Nina -- or any other nicknames. I am willing to accept whatever the child wants to call me (and others who follow) but, until the child can speak, I have to refer to myself as something -- so I've got to decide what I want that to be. I have a few ideas but I don't know. I don't want to get ridiculous. And I don't want to make it more of an issue than it is (because, really, in the scheme of things, it isn't).
I've asked Mark what he wants to be called but all I get from him is a "hmmph". I don't think his brain has wrapped around the idea at all.
I think he's feeling a little, shall I say, too mature. We're both fifty and I think I've accepted that as a number more than an age (though my body does remind me quite often that I'm no spring chicken). The thing is, men always seem to hang on to certain juvenile areas in their brains so he needs to just connect with that and run with it. And try not to annoy me in the process.
As they say (who are "they", anyway?), the only cure for old age is dying young. So, I'm determined to embrace each new stage of my life with as much gusto as I can manage.
Even if that means my child is having a child.
So, let the adventure begin again...
This is where it all started...
Mark, Lynn and our pet, Peeve, 1984
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As an aspiring writer, I blog about whatever happens to move me at the moment -- though some posts contain serious content, my big-picture goal is to bring a little humor into an often humorless world! Welcome, y'all, and make yourself at home! Please make sure you update your bookmarks!
When you are offended at any man's fault, turn to yourself and study your own failings. Then you will forget your anger...Epictetus