Tag Archives: pregnancy


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….

Yet another day….

This title applies to both my father and my daughter.  We continue to wait on a little chap to enter our lives, while my dad attends one more doctor’s appointment, blood pressure, temperature and oxygen count taken.  I write all these figures in my Dad Doc Notes folder, then disseminate the information to all interested parties, adding at the end that Baby Watch 2015 continues.  My dad noted twice to the scheduling nurse that by his next monthly appointment, he would be a great-grandfather.  The pride and pleasure in his voice were a balm to my ears.

At length I have noted the similarities my dad and daughter have shared over the last nine months.  What stands out to me now is the passage of time, not the last thirty-nine weeks, but years and years of all these lives involved.  And it’s not merely those with whom I share a genetic marker or three; other folks factor into these equations of three generations, but time spans so much more than Dad’s seventy-plus years, not to mention all the days, weeks, and months my grandson has waiting for him.  Well, once he finally tires of where he’s been living since mid-May 2014.  Last night he was acting like a career in kick boxing loomed, my poor daughter groaning not from contractions, but due to a wriggling little fish.  Or not so little, as the case may be.

My grandmother and my dad in 1945; Dad is about a year old here.

My grandmother and my dad in 1945; Dad is about a year old here.

At the doc yesterday, my father was weary, looking very much like a man in need of resolution.  Home health nurses will now give Mom a hand, but we’re not at a hospice corner.  With my daughter, it’s simply a matter of days, and I’m well versed in the stages of labour and birth.  With my father, the steps aren’t as clear.

How does one prepare for death, while trying to focus on life?  Dad was eager to share of his impending great-grandchild, two of them, I said to the nurse.  Yet, a few days ago, as I said goodbye at his house, he quietly noted that he wasn’t so sure just how much longer he could continue; at times the pain is tremendous.  The doctor gave my father a second look when Dad spilled just how many painkillers he’d taken before getting to the office.  I’m used to these numbers of this, that, and the other, but while the doctor prescribes these medications, does he understand just how my father takes them?  Sometimes it’s in staggered amounts that confounds the imagination.

Having gone for a walk in the park over the weekend, I snapped this vista; so much we don't know, so much to embrace.

Having gone for a walk in the park over the weekend, I snapped this vista; so much we don’t know, so much to embrace.

I can’t liken these days to any other previous; all of this is new to every single one of us.  But then, that is what life is, regardless of the situation.  Sometimes the routine feels familiar, and usually our experiences are to prepare us for what lies ahead.  But yesterday was a day solely unto itself, and today will be the same.  My youngest daughter’s pregnancy isn’t like that of my eldest, and my father’s path won’t be that of my mom.  Which makes each moment one to be treasured.  I’m so happy to be here, hanging out with my daughter, anticipating her bundle of joy.  And while it pains me to see my dad so altered, I feel privileged to accompany him and Mom to the doc, to visit with them at home, and tomorrow, to give my dad a trim.  His hair is getting curly at the ends, and I brought my scissors, drape, and combs.  He has a great-grandson to welcome, needs to be looking his very best.

Dad made it to Sunday breakfast; he would have crawled, he said to me over the phone, to get that chicken fried steak.

Dad made it to Sunday breakfast; he would have crawled, he said to me, to get that chicken fried steak.

No photographs or blog entries can begin to capture all of these events; they simply have to be savoured one day after another.