Second Time Around

It began with a simple visit. One which I will remember for all eternity. One which will stick in my mind and heart forever.

The funny thing about it is that I knew it was coming. I just didn’t know when and yet, with one simple little visit, I became caught in a never-ending, heart-throbbing, whirlwind of activity and emotion.

Alone in the kitchen, I looked at the calendar and took a special notice of the date while studying its pages carefully. I can’t believe that I actually began counting the days. As of that day, there had been 196 of them left – give or take a few.

My heart pounded like the beating of a base drum during the last few bars of the 1812 Overture.

The days drifted by and began to turn into weeks, the weeks into months. The anticipation grew and every time I thought about it, which was daily, I got excited: a kind of hyperventilating flutter that felt like it began in the pit of my stomach and worked its way down my legs, which seemed to somehow mysteriously find a unique way to change hard bone into rubber bands, then it would go up into my arms and down along into my hands which had become runaway trains, completely out of control.

Whenever I tried to write, I was full steam ahead! My meals were being eaten in haste, as if they were my last. I noticed that I had begun biting my lower lip. That’s not because I was hungry, but because I was slowly becoming a basket of raw nerves.

I’d think: take a deep breath; calm down. I’d smile, shake my head, and laugh at myself!

According to the calendar’s latest page, there were only about thirty-two days left. It’s not as though it would have been the next day. It was still thirty-two days away!

What makes this even stranger, is that this wasn’t the first time for me. I’d been through this before, although, it had not been much before and logic told me that this would not be the last, either. Different circumstances. Different thoughts, different emotions. It was also closer than the last time. The last time was in Florida, 1300 miles away. I managed to survive that one. I can survive this one.

That should have made me feel better and yet, that knowledge did nothing to calm my nerves.

I tried exercising my mind by reading a book. I finally gave up after realizing that I’d read the same page about four times and still had no clue as to what I the story was about. I put the book down and gave up reading for a while.

My son, Ken and his wife, Joanne visited and saw the big (I mean BIG) box in the spare bedroom. Ken said, “Mom, you really need to stop! You’ve gotten way out of control. Calm down!”

I knew he was right, but I just couldn’t help myself.

The big box had started about six months before. It was a compulsion that began with a small paper bag. The bag kept getting bigger until I opted for a box, but then the box began growing. After it grew larger than two large suitcases combined, I knew I needed to either purchase a larger box or stop. No, I didn’t stop. “Just a bit more,” I’d say to myself.

Every night I saw the look of disbelief on my husband’s face. He’d sit quietly at the dinner table. One night, he suddenly looked knowingly at me and said, “So, honey, tell me, how was your day?”

My son called to tease me. “Mom, you do realize that this isn’t the first time, right? What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong?” I almost shrieked into the phone. “What’s wrong?” I repeated. “Ken, your wife is pregnant! That’s what’s wrong! I mean, it’s not wrong, but -. aw! You know what I mean. I’m excited, nervous, enthusiastic. Whatever label you want to put on my feelings, I’m sure it’ll fit.”

He laughed and said, “How about nutty? After all mom, you have a grandson already. Remember?”

He was right. I do have a grandson who at the time, lived in Florida with my son Jim and his wife Donna. My grandson, Frank is the son of my younger son. The son of my baby! Frank is my baby’s baby.

This was different.

This new grandchild, my second grandchild, will be the first baby of my first baby, Ken, and his wife who at the time lived only about six miles from my home in New York.

It was a totally different feeling.

It was as different as when I delivered my sons. Totally different pregnancies; totally different births, totally different kids.

Now their kids will be totally different grandchildren.

Am I the only one who was able to figure that out? Or it was because I am who I am!

“No, Ken, although you have jokingly accused me about being an alien from outer space, I’m not an alien; I’m a GRANDMOTHER!!”

Stephanie was born that April and now after twenty-three years, lives about one hour away from where her older cousin lives in New York. What a beautiful world!