THE BLOG YOU WERE NOT EXPECTING Upon Becoming a Grandmother, part deux

THE BLOG YOU WERE NOT EXPECTING

Upon Becoming a Grandmother, part deux

Oh dear, you will say, ME…a GRANDMOTHER?  This is impossible at 27. Yes, I know. I find it hard to fathom, myself. Every woman will say this same thing.

I look in the mirror and am surprised to see who looks back at me. Who is this? Where did she come from? I’m not sure I like her. She looks grumpy. She seems to have unfinished business.

Ah…that’s it! That’s what is wrong with this grandmother thing. I have things left undone that are inconsistent with being a grandmother.

I still plan to be an international woman of mystery. Sleek, feral, able to wear pointed shoes, gliding through the darkness doing questionable things. This woman will crush your nuts to make a topping for her perfectly cooked snails, eaten with a tiny fork. Never without her sunglasses, she never squints, nor does she ever need a laxative.

Her eggs are eternally fresh. Society can tell when a female has young eggs. There is something in our wiring that craves female youth. As you get older, you get less desirable. Sorry, but that’s the truth. No creams or surgery will make up for the fact that your eggs are getting old. And when they pass the ‘use by’ date, well, that’s it for you.

The point is that grandmother-hood officially crosses you over that great divide into The Land Of Females With Really Old Eggs.

Ah, but this is a land of freedom, my friends.

That thousand pound rock you’ve had over your head for the past forty years disappears. You can do whatever you want.

You can paint watercolors and keep the ones you like and throw the rest away.

You can volunteer to help animals. You can appear in court to help children who find themselves without many friends.

You can talk to your neighbors and reestablish friendships you dropped because you got busy thirty years ago.

And you can be a grandmother. Even if you are an international woman of mystery who is only 27. Who will crush your nuts.