Groundhog Day would’ve been a good day to be born.  I made the mistake of sending a clever text to my very pregnant daughter this morning: “I wonder if Little Mister will stick his head out to see his shadow today!”  Hardy-har-har.  My equally clever sister commented, “You better hope he doesn’t see his shadow today.  That would mean six more weeks!”  Tee-hee-hee.  It was even suggested my darling daughter find a donkey to ride around town for awhile as that seemed to do the trick for Mary….

Sorry, honey.  We are all just a little wacko right now.  We jump when the phone rings.  PB checks the airlines for immediate seating tickets several times a day.  I do laundry every morning so all our underwear is ready to be thrown into a suitcase in a moment’s notice.  Things are getting a little outta control. 

As nerve-wracking as this is, waiting for Little Mister to be born has been a good exercise in patience.  It’s healthy for us to be forced from time to time to give up some control.  We need to be reminded once in a while that there are things beyond our realm of influence.  Nature just has to take its course and there’s no sense in fighting it. 

Yeah right.

Super Bowl Sunday would be a good day to be born…

I can’t resist sharing this!  Last night when PB came home from a meeting I told him I wrote a blog entry about him (he only likes to read my blog when I talk about him….).  After reading, he said, “I bought two copies of Dumbo today, one for our house and one to take out to them.”   How cool is that?!

We’re getting a jump on this grandparent thing.

Back in the days of diapers, midnight feedings and spit-up, I used to escape once in a while.  On the last Monday of the month,  it was momma’s day out.  PB would stay home for a fun day with the kids.  I usually left a detailed list of who needed what and when and why and how.  It was vital for everyone to stay on schedule or I would pay dearly for my absence the next day.  Most importantly, before heading out the door I always sternly warned, “Not too much TV.  Read books, play outside, do arts and crafts, but don’t spend all day in front of the TV.”  Grinning children would give knowing glances to each other and say, “Bye Mom!”  I always wondered what actually happened in the moments after I drove out of the driveway.

One day, after returning from a refreshing time away, I was pleased to see the house in order, the kitchen clean, the children happy.  It had been a great day of fun with dad.  Books had been read, games had been played, pictures had been colored.  I was impressed.  Then I heard it:  PB’s lilting whistle in the other room.  I knew the tune immediately: “Casey Junior”.  You know the one:

“Casey Junior’s comin’ down the track, comin’ down the track with a smokey stack.”

That could mean only one thing.  PB had put baby Sam down for his afternoon nap, curled up on the couch with Katie and snoozed while she watched her favorite movie: “Dumbo”.  The whistle gave it away. 

Thinking about this memory kinda makes me want to watch the Disney classic again.  I hope Poppa will get to snuggle up with Grand Baby someday and watch the baby elephant come floating down to the tune of “Look Out for Mister Stork”.  I hope I can rock-a-bye with Little Mister while we watch Dumbo rock in his mother’s trunk to the tune of “Baby Mine”.   I hope we can tell him how this was his mommy’s favorite movie.   

I’ll tell ya, waiting for this baby to come is turning me into a puddle of nostalgic goo. 

Dear Grand Baby,

You have no idea what is waiting for you on this side of the womb.  People are lining up to meet you and I’m first in line.  Poppa will be next, followed by aunties and uncles.  There are no midwest cousins yet, but someday.  You will be the trailblazer, the pioneer, the elder.  There are grandparents, uncles, aunts and lots of cousins to the west.  You will be the youngest on that side of the family tree.  No matter where you go, love will be waiting.

More than counting your fingers and toes, more than watching your blue eyes blink, more than holding your bundled body, I can’t wait to smell you.  The perfume of a freshly born baby is intoxicating.  I think it must come close to what eternity smells like.  So I will fly hundreds of miles to rock-a-bye, sing a lullabye, laugh and cry, and breath deep your scent of heaven. 

We are waiting patiently.  It’s almost time.

Love you forever, Nonnie

The funny thing about a baby countdown is that we don’t know how many days we have left to count.  This could be day 13…. but then it could be day 20….or day 2.  The anticipation is definitely keeping us on the edge of our seats. 

When I did the Wedding Countdown last July/August, I knew exactly what needed to be done and when.  The shopping, the pedicures, the cake pops, the decorations, the hair appointments, were all scheduled to run like clockwork.  The lists were made and we checked everything off in proper order so that when the big day came, we were polished, dipped and decorated. 

Waiting for a baby to come is a whole different ballgame.  This time Little Mister is calling the shots and the suspense is definitely building.  Every time the phone rings, my heart beats a little faster.  I wonder if I’ve spent enough time preparing ahead so I can be gone for awhile.  I keep trying to imagine what he will look like.  I carry on all my usual work and home responsibilities, but always in the back of my mind is the lingering thought, “Is this the day?  Will he come today?”

As these precious days of waiting to become a grandma go by, I can’t help but think about another “coming” that I should be anticipating.  Someday the Son of God will return, but only the Father knows the time.  Does my heart beat faster at the thought?  Am I preparing for that day?  Can I even begin to imagine what He will look like?  Do I ever wake up in the morning and say, “Could this be the day?”

Come, Lord Jesus.  And come little grandson of mine.

I called my grandma “Boppy”.  Actually, my oldest brother, who was the first grandchild, started it when he was a little guy learning to talk.  Evidently when he tried to say “grandma”, it came out more like “Boppy” and the name stuck.  All nine grandchildren called her “Boppy”.  I had forgotten that until this morning when I read my daughter’s post.  Katie has dusted off her old blog and is breathing new life into it, much to my delight.  (It Is Happy to Love – it’s in my blogroll.) 

Anyway, she wrote about a pillow she has, called a boppy.  I read that word and suddenly I was transported to 1965 and the house just down the driveway.  My grandparent’s house always smelled like pickles and spices and apfelkuchen (apple cake).  There was a glass candy dish filled with candy corn and I could take as many pieces of candy as I was years old.  Boppy watched “As the World Turns” and gave me art lessons.  We looked through the pile of “Pack-O-Fun” magazines and picked out projects, although I don’t remember doing any of them.  She let me rummage through her jewelry box and we walked outside to see the flowers in the garden.  Whenever I was bored, or trying to get out of practicing the piano, I could skip down the back driveway and while away an afternoon at Boppy’s.  She was never too busy for me and always made me feel like I was the best part of her day.

I wonder what Little Mister will call me.  I suppose “grandma” will be ok.  But I wouldn’t mind something original and quirky; a name that only one little boy in the whole world will have the right to call me.  I guess I’ll let him decide.  In the meantime, I’d better stock up on candy corn.

My baby is going to have a baby.

Her due date is three weeks away.

I’m going to be a grandma.

Having trouble finding words.

Is this normal?

Can’t stop thinking about my daughter.

Am I ok?

Can’t stop thinking about her birth.

Am I going crazy?

It’s a lot of work, becoming a grandma.

 Gonna need some help.  Hold my hand and let’s count it down!