Bun

I've been keeping a secret (sort of) for a few weeks now. It's such HUGE NEWS, and now I can say it: I'M GOING TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!! My daughter Katherine, the one who NEVER comments on my blogs and who probably doesn't even follow me, who before she crosses the threshold of my house has to reach out and tuck my hair behind my ears, is having a baby in May!

Our phone conversation went like this:

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi! How are you?"

"Not bad. I'm cooking."

"Mmmhmm. (Yawning. Irma Rombauer, I'm not.)What are you cooking?"

"Oh, lemon mustard chicken, asparagus and roast potatoes."

"Yum, but, could you call back? It's the division finals and the Yankees are..."


"Mom!"

"All right, it's just if you're cooking..."


"Listen!  I want to tell you about dessert. It's kind of special. There's a BUN in the oven."

"A what? You're PREGNANT?"

"Yup."

"OH! OH! Are you sure? Are you all right? Is Ty all right?" (Ty, of course, is the DAD.) Is Quincy all right? (Quincy, of course, is the DOG.)

"Mom, calm down. I'm fine, Ty's fine, Quincy's fine, everything's fine. I saw the heartbeat today."

"The heartbeat! I'm so excited, I can't believe it, I can't believe I'm going to have my own baby!"

"Except, it's not your baby; it's mine."

"Wha-what I meant was, you're my baby and now you're having a baby."

But we both know what I meant.

I was pretty good for me about not telling anyone. I was allowed to tell Juan the Gardener, but then, I just had to tell Jane.

"I knew it!" she said, as I knew she would.

We had all had dinner together at Jane's a week or so before. Our families have known each other all of our children's lives.

"There was something different about her," Jane mused, thinking back.

"Yeah, I know."

"She seemed so down to earth or something."

"She did."

"And settled, sort of."

"Exactly."

"So, have you got your name all picked out?"

"My name? You mean some sort of grandmother name?"

"Yes, like 'Granny' or something."

"Hmm, I don't know, but it will have to be something cool, nothing old sounding. I'm gonna be one helluva hip Granny."

"Well, get back to me on that, will you?" Jane teased.  "I know I'm going to have to listen to every single detail of this pregnancy anyway."

"Every single detail," I interrupted.

 "It's going to be a long 9 months. Tell darling Katherine I'm so thrilled. So much love to you! My God, where did all that time go?"

There was a pause, like right before tears. I remembered back 31 years ago to a knock on my door and a radiant young woman, giddy-pregnant like me, grinning and holding out a platter of chocolate chip cookies, which we finished together. 31 years ago.

And now my daughter, who towers over me, who is strong and beautiful and capable and competent, (and sometimes, frankly, pretty intimidating) who ignited a fiercesome, unquenchable love from the instant I knew she was going to be, is carrying my grandchild. MY grandchild.

Katherine's first sentence was SELF DO DAT, and she had a glare that could curl your toes; she also used to leave teeth marks on the butter in the refrigerator.

Now it's her turn and I get to be there.