It is really hard to reconcile all I know about my daughter with this fat, lazy woman who has appeared suddenly in our home with the onset of pregnancy!
Okay, maybe that's mean. I mean, I got pretty fat when pregnant too. But let's examine how she looked before.
None of us have ever had the muscle tone Mata Hari has. None of us. At first, she tried to keep up her fitness routine through the pregnancy, making an effort to do cardio across from the stereos and tvs in the house.
But as she got bigger and more lethargic, she threw in the towel on that. It's actually kinda nice to sit across from her and talk instead of chasing her around to get in a single thought.
As for me, I've been trying my best to ignore the fact that I'm going to be an old fart so soon I can feel it creaking in my bones.
The grannies, at least, worry silently and enjoy the dulcet tunes.
I actually decided to go ahead and indulge my bookworm side while I wait for that final day of work, but avoiding "the old lady talk" with the grannies has been an exercise in strategy.
Mata knows I'm in there and will occasionally shout interesting passages that she finds in her pregnancy books to me through the door.
Eden, on the other end of the tower, knows I'm in there too, but she's kept mum ever since I bribed her with a spanking new plush Peter Rabbit, which she promptly renamed Edna.
Percy has been staying with us frequently through Mata Hari's pregnancy, but upon being struck by lightening the other night and hearing the death music start, he's taken his leave of us for a while.
Fortunately Death had arrived for some random zombie in the yard and not for the father of my grandchild.
Granny used her relationship transmorgify...thing from her blog to make us all friends with Death so he'd stop being so snippy with us for being immortals. This created a weird scene in which he rushed to Mata, and apologized for falling asleep at the wheel and giving her baby the wrong favorite color.
"It's pink," he said breathlessly. "not black. Black is me. I'm going to get fired."
Then he gave us his input on names. We're really wanting to get it right with the 8th. Something ... celebrational, but also relevant to her supermax. Something bright but also beautiful. Sort of like my Mata Hari.
And then it came to me. I flew out of bed and called, "Mata! I've got it! The Name!" and then boom. The worst.
This is going to be bad, isn't it?
Yep. Mata flew in and started laughing at me so hard she went into labor.
Why you gotta laugh at an old woman? While she writhed and carried on, I decided to pick out new clothes and fix my god-awful hair.
Check me out. Every day:
Formal:
Sleep:
Swim:
Outerwear:
Awesome, right? Still as bright as the day Grandma Eunice built my nursery. Oh, but back to Mata.
After a few hours of this, finally her body began to sparkle and into her arms appeared the most beautiful grandchild known to man, beast, or forum member.
Mata Hari held her back, looking deep into her little wrinkly face. "Oh, Mama," she breathed to me. "Wow."
And so it was as I entered the winter of my life, we welcomed into our home our final immortal member. It's so wonderful to meet you, Champagne Classic.
