Today, I saw my son and his girlfriend who are expecting a child, my first grandchild, in about two weeks. I was working today, but I was able to take an hour off to have lunch with them.
They are a sweet and beautiful young couple.
My son has grown into an amazing young man before my eyes. He was full of stories of his new job, making pizza at a nice local restaurant, of plans for the future, of names for his future child.
His girlfriend had the fabled luminosity of pregnancy and an air of calmness beyond her years. She talked about recent ultrasound photos of the baby where Baby Girl's face was clearly visible and you could see she has my son's mouth.
They are going to be wonderful parents, and my heart is bursting with love for them and with excited anticipation of meeting my little granddaughter very soon.
Nineteen years ago, when I was expecting my son, it was the heat of summer and he was 10 days overdue. I was exhausted, uncomfortable and impatient.
So I went to a masseuse who "specialized in the childbearing years." The massage felt great, of course, and she did some acupressure tricks to bring on labor.
More importantly, she asked me to visualize the baby.
Now I'm a skeptic, but I was a desperate skeptic that day, willing to try anything. Obediently, I closed my eyes, and without the slightest effort on my part, there appeared in my mind a beautiful baby face, in profile, rounded cheeks pink, golden hair, eyes shining.
My heart began to melt.
"Maybe the baby has something to tell you," said the masseuse.
Instantly, instantly, the words popped into my mind:
"I need you."
"And maybe you have something to tell the baby," continued the masseuse, although I had given no outward indication of any of these thoughts.
"I'll take care of you," I silently vowed. And tears began to flow.
By the next morning, I was a mother.
Tomorrow, it will be 19 years since I became a mother. In two weeks (give or take), my son will become a father. Life goes on.