|ME WITH MY BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER |
(She's the slightly younger-looking one on the left.)
Any day now, we will be welcoming a new member to our family, courtesy of my daughter and her husband. The clan gathered en masse on Boxing Day and our pregnant beauty was the highlight of the affair. The second she arrived the predictions began, delivered in typical third-person fashion because, unlike my leg, pregnant women love it when you talk about them as if they're not there.
"Look how tiny she is! You'd hardly know she was pregnant!"
"She's still carrying the baby high; it'll be weeks yet."
"No, she's definitely dropped. She could go any day now."
"Ask Marie's leg when she thinks the baby will arrive."
"I already did. It said she'll be two days past her due date, three max."
"We should put money on that."
"Totally. Can you lend me 50 bucks?"
"Um, I'm RIGHT HERE! And you are not betting on my baby, please and thank you."
She was right, of course. There is something thoroughly repugnant about gambling on one's unborn relatives; I mean, my God, what are we, the Kardashians? I chided the group gently and we made more of an effort to include the actual bearer of the unborn relative in the conversation. She told us her back is killing her, she can't sleep a wink, the baby seems to enjoy soca music and kicking its mother in the bladder and, although she is extremely excited about being a mom, "at this point I just want it out of me."
And I was going to say "Be careful what you wish for because the 'getting it out of you' part is a special kind of hell," but then I remembered that, as her mom, I'm supposed to be a positive influence and a good example, so I cleverly changed the subject by suggesting we open our presents.
"Me first!" I said. "Let's start with the ones that make clinking sounds!"
"All your presents make clinking sounds."
"Can we hold off for a second?" someone said. "The mother-to-be has to use the ladies' room."
"Again?" I huffed. "Omigod! Well I guess I'll just have to wait then."
I could go on, but I think you get the point: it was a lovely get-together filled with love and warmth and anticipation of the blessed event. Which I eventually got around to opening and it was a bottle of Alize (my favourite!) Oh, and the baby. Any day now, folks! Any day ...
EDITOR'S NOTE: I know you're dead-set against wagering but I just calculated the odds and you stand to win a cool $200 if she actually goes on time.
MY NOTE: Editor, please, show some respect. *slips him a fiddy* All of it on "due date." We never had this conversation.