In 2004 on her fiftieth birthday, Oprah Winfrey proudly proclaimed, "Fifty is the new thirty!"
Spreading that sort of unsubstantiated tommyrot has to be stopped. In the immortal words of Barney Fife, we must nip it. Nip it in the bud! The woman is as rich as Croesus, has Bob the personal trainer, Dr. Phil, her best pal Gayle, her main squeeze Steadman and Lord only knows who else to make her life easier.
What she doesn't have is a 10 month old granddaughter that she kept for four days last week.
I forgot just how much work babies are. Of course, I'm at that age where the memory begins to fade, unless you believe that malarkey that subtracts two decades from your age. Yeah, yeah, yeah, fifty is a great time to wear purple with a red hat and make up for the sobriety of your youth. It's a time to enjoy life and reap the rewards of a couple decades of hard work. But sometimes fifty
I had to squeeze in a shower while she napped. I thought I could prop up my feet while she slept and read a new book I'd bought the week before. HA! I'm not sure what I did during nap time, but it sure wasn't reading.
I dragged out plastic bowls and spatulas for her to play with. We watched her Elmo videos (la la la la, la la la la, Elmo's song) and Bob the Builder on PBS. While I didn't completely blow my diet by grabbing junk food between stopping her from eating cat food and eating lint from under the sofa, my diet kinda went to hell in a handbasket this week. Tomorrow I'm back on track.
What I did remember, though, was how to change a diaper on a squirming baby, how to blow raspberries on a baby's tummy and the lyrics to many of the songs from Sesame Street. I also remember what a mess it is when a baby sneezes in your direction with a mouthful of Gerber lasagna dinner.
I remember too how sweet a baby smells right after a bath and how her giggles can make me giggle too, even when I'm covered in lasagna dinner.
I also remember why you have babies in your twenties and thirties. The next time I read a headline about some fifty-something woman giving birth, I'm going to write her a note and ask if she's lost her ever-loving mind!
Don't get me wrong. I love my little granddaughter to pieces. But it's hard work to tend to one day in and day out when you're not used to it and your house isn't childproofed. Folks talk about waiting until they can afford to have children. If I'd done that, I'd have a toddler right now. Take my word for it -- have 'em while you're young.
And now that she's gone back home, I've learned that exhaustion is cured with a long, hot shower and good night's sleep, little fingerprints will wash right off the window in that back door, apple juice is easily mopped off the kitchen floor and I'll be finding Cheerios all over my kitchen and den for weeks to come. I also discovered that Kermit the Frog sang "Kokomo" and "Who Let the Frogs Out."
When I met my son at a halfway point between their house and mine and handed her back over, she greeted her Daddy with a big smile and a hug, and she waved her little backwards wave and said "Bye" to her Grammy. Once I returned home, I put away the bucket of makeshift toys so they'll be ready for the next visit. She'll probably be walking by then and I'll forget, remember and learn a whole lot more.
This has nothing whatsover to do with writing unless one of you can somehow make the connection. My brains are still a little fried and I'm trying to get them rested for Saturday's luncheon. My good friend Annie is driving in from Kentucky to attend the luncheon with me and I can't wait. I haven't seen her since last summer, though we email with regularity. It's going to be a great weekend. The DH has already said he's running away from home on Friday.
I'd forgotten he was such a wuss. :grin:
P.S. What's your best baby story?