Princess Grace of Bucktown

On Friday I met up with Rob at my parents' house, the two of us having flown into Chicago from New York within 40 minutes of each other, but on different airlines and to different airports (in case we are being followed.) Rob announced he was putting on "short pants" and, along with my mom, we went immediately to Grace's house.

The baby is beautiful. Tiny and squeezable, and very well behaved. No whining, no complaining, no demands that we stop staring at her. She's so calm.

The circumstances gave my mother the perfect motivation--and audience--for her antics.

"When will I have a grandchild?" she moaned dramatically into her glass of wine.

Then: "I have a great idea. You can move here and have a baby!"

A two-fer. Usually it's one or the other, relocating or procreating (that is, now that I'm getting married and she can check that one off her list.) But both at once! She was really getting giddy.

I think I handled it well, basically by flinging my head into my hands and reminding her through low grumbles that the focus of our evening was not me. Or her. Or how she has thus far been thwarted in her efforts to blink two times fast and become a grandmother. She blithely ignored me and went on concocting plans.

And with that, we drew our attention back to Gracie, with her perfect little lips and her soft baby smell, passing her around and around like we were at a baby square dance.

Though Rob was a little nervous when it was his turn, he rallied like a pro. My mother resisted commentary about this, but probably only because her brain had exploded. She later played "baby" with my grandparents' dog.