Oldest Chicken and Baby Pea are having a baby. When they told us at Christmas, Oldest Chicken got a little choked up. His tears were hastily swept aside. Middle, Baby Chicken and myself had no problem openly blubbering, dancing and squeeing.
I was given rules. No telling the best girls until I had the go ahead. “I’ll let you know when you and your girls (He means the Yayas) can tell all of Scottsdale.” Pfft. Wouldn’t he be surprised it’s taken this long to tell the Duchess Dolls?
I did, however, share with all the besties, co-workers, a stranger a the grocery store and a tyke in a cart at Target. “Pretty soon I’m going to have one of you.” The tot, while adorable…not so friendly. Her mom’s side eye wasn’t exactly inviting either.
We’ve kept close monitor on Baby Pea, the cutest pregnant girl ever. First off, she’s the size of a minute and is hatching a basketball. She has none of the spread some ladies experience–ass, face, arm beef and leg swell–not mentioning any names.
A card arrives in the mail. I have instructions (again) to FaceTime upon its arrival. It’s a Mother’s Day card. Oldest Chicken has a thing about holidays not being about gifts but experiences. He is much more likely to send you to a new wine tasting than hand over a box with a bow. Example. Last Mother’s Day, at the height of the pandemic, he was concerned about anyone around me. So, instead of flower delivery, he drew a bouquet (he should have gone into art), and sent it along.
FaceTime it is. Their adorable faces greet me. Baby Pea is making a salad and there’s my clue. If you eat salad, you get a basketball. If you eat everything in sight you get a fat face, ass and swollen ankles. She shows me her belly and laments that she’s huge. Oh, honey, if you only knew.
We chat. I stare at the card on the my coffee table. “So, what about this card?” say I.
“Okay, go ahead and open it.” says Oldest Chicken.
I open the card. “Thanks mom for the awesome genes.” And there’s a picture of a pair of jeans.
Inside: “I’m so glad I got them from you! Happy Mother’s Day.”
There’s a sweet message from Baby Pea. I hit the daughter-in-law lottery.
And there, in my son’s tiny scrawl, “I hope your grandXXXXXXXXXXXXXX gets them too!!!” (There’s too many x’s there for you to guess–that’s on purpose).
And my heart melts. Another gift given with pure joy. They said they weren’t finding out. They lied. And now I know. Again, the instructions. “All of The Dale can’t know yet.” They have people to tell. Evidently, the card arrived a bit early.
There’s another gramma that gets the same Mother’s Day gift. I can’t wait to call her and squee.