It’s been a long time since I’ve had vomit in my hair. Admittedly, it was a regular occurrence back in the days when I would strip naked and butt dance in the car after a wild party. Lately, the gastric juices are coming from a six month-old bundle of bad breath.
My firm resolve never to become a Grandma failed me when my youngest decided to poop out a baby last August. At Michelle’s baby shower, we were asked to write a special message for the baby … you know, for when he learns how to read and set the house on fire and stuff. All my children were of the female gender, so I wasn’t sure what to write for a boy. I’m a writer and I choked. What advice would you give to a testosterone laden adolescent? I finally hit on my Hallmark moment.
Finish your homework
Do your chores
Say your prayers
Don’t pick up whores
My card was carefully placed in a scrapbook, next to all the sappy sentiments of the other guests, who clearly lacked a poetic flair and the foresight to prevent him from getting syphilis.
Once Calvin went from being a blip on the ultrasound to a spitting-up machine, I fell in love. When I come over, he gives me that huge smile, just before he grunts out a poop. There’s just one teensie-weensie problem: I now own a smart phone.
Complete strangers will find my phone shoved in their faces while I carpet bomb them with baby’s first Christmas and forty different angles of baby drooling in his sleep. Whatever you do, don’t get behind me in the Uber-Mart checkout line. If you have twenty items or less, you have just become a target of opportunity.
Don’t think it doesn’t require the self-restraint of Ghandi to only post one photo of my little dude in this blog. So, both of you faithful readers who waited out my blogging dry-spell, may I present Calvin Orrin Coleman: (thanks to Grandma) STD-free for six months and counting.
Yeah, you and your funny bone are back! My life is complete again!
That’s so sweet, Gina, although you might want to rethink basing your life’s completeness on a woman who repeatedly failed her ink-blot test.
Poetry is obviously in your blood. Maybe Calvin inherited those genes! LOL
I owe it all to the Dr. Seuss institute of iambic pentameter.
Nice to see you back! A cute grandson!
Good to see you back in action, Karla!
I hope to be a grandmother one day, but Collin seems to be in no great hurry to make that happen.
Thanks Norma and William. I got dragged into grandparenthood kicking and screaming, but I hear that guilt trips work well when you’re trying to encourage your baby to make a baby. I know it’s a little overdone, but feigning a heart attack is a classic.