Thursday, August 18, 2011
Here I come to save the day
Yesterday this man said to Mo, "What a big boy!" She was wearing her Mighty Mo onesie outfit. But I guess that male superheros are partial to spandex, so I corrected him. Whatever, no big deal. I'm not uptight about people mistaking her gender.
"Oh, a girl." He smiled at her and then to me, "And you're the grandmother." Not in the form of a question.
Are you kidding me? Clearly this guy was smoking crack.
This reminds me of the childbirth class we took. It was an all day Saturday affair in a classroom in the basement of the hospital. As a warmup we had to get to know the couple next to us and then introduce them to the class. The kids next to us--and I say "kids" because they were 20 and 21--were very nice. The girl looked just like Luna Lovegood from the HP movies.
We chatted with them for a few minutes about the usual stuff. How far along are you? Boy or girl? Have you thought of names? But when Robb mentioned that this was our first child, you should have seen the shock on their doughy little faces. To them we looked like Old Mother Hubbard and Father Time. Definitely too old to be giving a dog a bone, if you know what I mean.
Biologically speaking yes, I could have grandchildren at 33, and Robb's grandchildren could have drivers licenses. But I don't, and Robb's grandchildren are still in elementary school. This is our baby. We took our sweet time. Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of our first date. And maybe that means I get called granny once in a while.
But it was probably my fault for taking a shower and changing out of my spit up shirt. I lost my new-mama-street-cred.