My new book “Midlife Solo” is now available.

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NEWS!

My pregnant daughter missed one of the requisite ultrasounds, which wasn’t needed, apparently, and so we decided to book a private one instead, to find out what sex child she is carrying. Several friends who heard about this were decidedly against. Ultrasounds are invasive, they said, and in any case, why not wait to find out, in the time-honoured fashion?
Well, because an occasional ultrasound isn’t that invasive, and why wait, when you can know? My God, there’s enough stress giving birth without the suspense about what the sex is. How great to be assured, one way or another, in advance. So off we went.

IT’S A BOY! In the first second, we saw proud and incontrovertible proof. The most thrilling and beautiful image – a swirling baby, his hand in front of his face, firmly attached to his mother. He’s perfect, what Anna secretly wanted, and I too – because, as I wrote in the last post, the world needs more confident, loving, marvellous men. Women like that we have in abundance. Men, not so much. So we’ll all do our best to make one, for the future. Well, I, Grandma, will do my best to help.


I know, we must not count our chickens, there’s a long way to go, danger and who knows what. But right now, there’s a bouncing baby boy in my daughter’s belly, due to present himself to the planet on May 14th 2012. My mother’s great-grandson. She just called. There is excitement in Ottawa.


Okay, I’ll calm down soon.

As Anna and I were walking toward the ultrasound place, who did we see in the distance but a very tall young man with an iPod who is closely related, genetically, to us both. We stopped and had a hug in the middle of Yonge Street, and then continued on our way. He and his sister had lunch at her place yesterday – she told me he bought her a whole load of groceries – and he called me afterwards to leave a message. “I just want you to know,” he said, “that your children love each other very much.”
My cup is runnething over. And it’s not a bad South African red.
Here’s to you, boychik. Float, safe and warm, knowing that out here in the bright light and noise are quite a few people who want very much to get to know you.
P.S. All this bliss, while in my city, catastrophe reigns – the barbarians slashing everything in sight and making it impossible to register a protest. Not to mention what’s happening federally, nixing climate change, native rights, the long gun registry on this December 6th – sweet Jesus.
Enjoy that dark, quiet place, babe.

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

Some Blogs I Follow

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