Tomorrow morning, Fertile Myrtle is going to the hospital to be induced and if FM’s six-hour labor with the Fiece is any indication of the insane speed of her child birthing, Baby Fiece is expected to make her debut sometime around noon. I’ll be at work, being terrible at my job, just waiting for the call/text/carrier pigeon announcement that another adorable little minion has been born into the world.
I cannot wait. I am so excited. I am also supremely emotional about it and am going to blame this post on the fact that I am a silly hormonal woman who can’t control myself. I mean, there will be a new person on the planet tomorrow, people. And I’ll get to teach her inappropriate catchphrases and feed her lots of sugary treats. This is a huge deal.
Anyway, so I’m already “there” emotionally. And then, in cleaning up some piles in our bedroom, I stumbled upon my favorite recent photo of my grandparents, taken by an Eastern European party photographer at a popular Italian chain restaurant famous for its “family style” gluttony portions.
If I wasn’t already convinced that my grandparents are the most joyful, hilarious, adorable people in the universe, this photo totally seals the deal. LOOK AT THEM. My grandpa will be 80 this year, guys, and he has salt and pepper hair. Unfortunately for me, I don’t have his glorious olive skin and will therefore not look like I’m in my 50s two decades after I’ve aged out of them. Thanks, Grandpa, for hogging all the good genes.
When I found this photo, tucked between a speeding ticket I got in 2010 and a gift certificate for one free pound of See’s Candy, I burst into tears.
Because I am a totally normal and perfectly stable human being.
These people live twenty minutes from me and I see them on the regular and still, looking at this picture of them, I miss them desperately. This may have something to do with the fact that when I found this print, I had just gone through all the (costume) jewelry I inherited when my great-grandmother died, and was feeling like a sadsack. You can’t have people forever, even if they are the best people you know and you love them the most, and that is terrifying.
This is why I never clean our room.
(When I led with Baby Fiece, I bet you didn’t think this is where we’d end up. I know you won’t believe this, but it’s true: I’m not usually a maudlin weirdo – I just play one on this blog.)