January chill

"So," impatiened Mike, the chill of the January air reedy in his voice. "Has Susan told you she's pregnant yet?"

"Now honey," I implored from the Google shuttle hurtling up the 101 in the nagging winter's rain, "she'll tell me in her own good time. I'm just SO excited for her and Greg, you have no idea!"

Suz and I had worked together more than half a year -- just the kind of woman I wanted my nieces to become, happily married with a great husband, career, and home. Only a few years older than said nieces (please see: uncles with hip replacements, congenital deafness, reading glasses, chronic fatigue, mid-life crisis) but just as bright, on top of the world, and knowing exactly what she wanted out of life. Most of all I was happiest for the child-to-be, lucky to be born into such a life.

I see, just a few years hence, Abby's and Caroline's weddings, Charley's and Adam's too -- their consorts as lucky as Suz's own husband. I see myself standing at their weddings in the second row behind my brothers, sisters-in-law, my 80-ish parents, frail but holding up -- as the brides come down the aisle, married lives beginning. I feel the twinge in my hips, glad the processional hymn is over so I can finally sit down, reluctant to read the small type in the prayer book, hoping the reception will be over in time for my 4 p.m. nap. Gosh, I remember tha look of confidence in my own young eyes. Just yesterday, after all. 

I know, more than anything, the new child who'll be born sometime in the fall, he'll or she'll have that same look of young confidence at his wedding ... something like 2035 or so, I suppose. I'll be over 70 by then. His parents will be in the front row, tears coming down their face. I just hope they don't have hip replacements to deal with. Now that would be a super bummer.