Anticipation….

Last night my dad called me, wanting to know how his granddaughter was doing.  More specifically, Dad desired information about his great-grandson.  He said that both he and Mom had been jumping every time their phone rang, and while Mom didn’t want to pester us, Dad didn’t have an issue with that at all.

Photo by a Belgian....

Photo by a Belgian….

The call was brief; other than scattered contractions that carry little lasting pain, my daughter is hanging in there.  But now my husband is here, hopefully for more than only the weekend, and my eldest, her hubby, and Buttercup are expected this afternoon.  All in all, this would be a perfect day for a baby to be born.

Ha, not that we have much say in the matter.  Rain has curtailed the daily walks around the neighborhood, although we could brave the mall.  But that seems artificial; my youngest prefers tromping around the stomping grounds that will make up her baby’s world.   Perhaps if we catch a break in the weather and she’s not already caught up in productive contractions, we’ll amble around quiet damp streets, talking about various nonsensical subjects, like Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.  We’ve been watching a lot of DS9 over the last ten days.

Another shot taken by a talented Belgian...

Another shot taken by a talented Belgian…

These last days before a child enters the world are the kind of days that get lost in the soon-to-be shuffle of a new baby in the house.  But these days are important to note, for all of our lives will never be the same.  My daughter’s will alter the most, but each of us who love her fall in line as our hearts are widened for a newbie to fall under our familial umbrella.  Folks are gathering, in eager joy to meet this little chap, and those far away are sending good wishes and much love.  This is the best way for a baby to arrive, surrounded by deep affection from a variety of relatives.  Blood doesn’t bind every one of us, but love is stronger than DNA.

Taken by Brandi, who did my daughter's pedicure; my toes are on the left....

Taken by Brandi, who did my daughter’s pedicure; my toes are on the left, still waiting to dry….

Yesterday, one of my dearest friends accompanied my daughter and me to the local beauty college; my friend received a manicure, while my girl and I had our feet pampered.  We told our stories, how my friend and I met when I lived in the UK and she in Belgium.  How my youngest was just a little girl when this woman became a part of our family, and how now, two and a half years after snapping my eldest’s wedding, this friend will capture a baby’s birth.  Our planet is large, but the scope can be narrowed to one little corner of the world, although my daughter feels anything but small.  And while she may not actually believe it, she will return to her pre-pregnancy size in a manner of weeks, as that freeloader expands his vista to include all of our faces.  Yes, today would be a fabulous moment to claim as one’s birthday; I hope it’s today.  If not, tomorrow would be lovely, Monday acceptable, Tuesday….

In 1990, my father met his first grandson.  Twenty-five years later, a great-grandson is nearly on the doorstep.

In 1990, my father met his first grandson. Twenty-five years later, a great-grandson is nearly on the doorstep.

Let’s just say today, fingers crossed.  My father is certainly growing weary of waiting.  Nothing more would please me than to place a baby in his grasp.  It’s been a few years since he cradled a little one, and time is passing faster than we realize.  It’s time, or so says this anticipatory abuela.  Let’s hope that little fellow is listening….

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