This morning, Miss Sasha called from the hospital, where she was most displeased with the cuisine. “Mommy,” she opined, “They’ve got me on a liquid diet. Herbal tea, apple juice, Jell-O. Also: the baby was born at 1:30 by caesarian. I hate my doctor. Grandma and Papa are at a wine tasting and promised to smuggle in wine that wasn’t pre-tasted. Call everyone and tell them the news.”
“What,” I asked, “That Grandma and Papa are on a liquid diet, too?”
“No, that I could use a pizza. DUH!” So I called Trout and Siobhan, who have been Miss Sasha’s mad aunties, are fully on board with my plan to raise this new kid with frequent help from Archie McPhee – because who doesn’t need itty bitty rubber chickens? – and wield credit cards with abandon. I made a few more phone calls, then made the one that made my day.
Tata: Guess what! Miss Sasha had the baby!
Grandpa: Everyone’s good? She’s all right?
Tata: Yup! Everyone’s very happy!
Grandpa: That’s wonderful!
Tata: Hey, Grandpa! I’m a grandma!
Grandpa: You’re a – [wild laughter] Hey, Grandma!
I’ll drink to that.