‘Hi Mum, you’re going to be a grannie’
Urban Grandma
life in the Granny lane
One hot, humid, January evening, my son called and asked if he could ‘pop around ’ a rare treat for Mum. I iced some cold beers and waited. He appeared, walking tall and proud rapping to himself, his scaffolding tools swinging from his hips. Was this really my boy? His muscles were bigger than last time we met, and my Prince now had a Princess.
His usual “Hi Ma” big hugs, now made me feel terribly small. Am I shrinking or is he growing? We sat in silence as he took a deep swig on his beer. We sat there for a while, chillin’, as he would say. I held a cold beer to my cheek, in order to keep chillin’ and resist talking. Which for me is a challenge. The best tactic to get my 20 year old talking is to shut up.
Suddenly, he looked up grinning, and calmly said “I’m going to be a father.” I must admit I did get rather too enthusiastic in terms of ‘wetting the baby’s head’, spraying most of my mouthful of beer all over him and the table. Then, the unexpected happened.
Instead of ‘shock horror’, a rush of adrenaline catapulted me off my chair. With a loud “Whoop!” I lunged towards him. Hijacked by a fierce, grandmotherly strength, I hugged him. If he hadn’t been smiling, of course, my reaction would have been somewhat different.
“That’s wonderful!” I sobbed through a new blend of tears, which, I was to discover is not always a pleasant taste. But right then, right there they were tears of the deepest love.
After he left, I sat there baffled. A father? A moment ago he was my son. A moment ago I was merely a mother. Was I meant to age gracefully in the next five minutes? Start knitting, settle down? I lit a cigarette, definitely not an approved Grannie activity and felt in urgent need of Champagne. I put on some lipstick and rushed out the door.
To be continued….
by Elaine Paton
