Surely this week, surely

Take the traditional sitcom approach to baby-birthing.

Please.

Daughter delightedly announces to her mom that she is going to make her a grandmother.

Grandmother is delirious, looks at her son-in-law in a whole new light, spends the next eight months buying adorable nursery furnishings, including adorable books and toys and wallpaper, all carefully selected for their adorable gender-neutrality.

What will the sex of the baby be? “They don’t want to know ahead of time,” Grandmother whispers conspiratorially. “They want it to be a surprise just like she was to us.”

She tries to look calm – after all, most of her friends are already grandmothers, and she’s been waiting for this day for what seems an eternity, 30 years at least. She lets her mask slip a little, however, when at Bridge Club one afternoon, she blurts, “My daughter’s embryo becomes a fetus today!”

When the baby’s gender somehow does leak out, Grandmother was secretly overjoyed because now she could go out and buy more stuff – boy-stuff – for her daughter’s child-under-construction.

Time goes by. Since our incipient grandmother lives just across town from her daughter, she can easily meet her at the hospital minutes after she receives The Call. Until then, she can be home in the evening to feed the slightly less interested incipient grandfather.

As the big day draws closer, Grandmother tends to spend more and more time with her daughter, and that’s where she was, sharing a pot of green decaffeinated tea in her daughter’s cheerful kitchen, when Daughter casually mentions to Mom that she’d had contractions all night.

Her mom goes into action. “Did you call the doctor?” she demands. “Never mind, I’ll do that. You just sit still. I thought your due-date wasn’t until tomorrow. Will you let George know or won’t they let him off work? That’s all right. I’m here.…”

“Mom….”

“Honey, I have a better idea. Let’s have the baby right here. I had paramedic training, and there’s nothing to it, and your insurance company will love you! Which towels should I…”
“That’s all right,” the daughter assures her. “We like the birthing center and you can be there with me as long as you wish.”

And so the baby boy is born, on time, perfect, beautiful, 8 lbs. 3 oz. Grandmother and Son-in-law get to watch (or is it called “coaching” these days?). Daughter was in serious labor only a few minutes. Close-ups show her with a smile on her face, make-up perfect, blonde hair sweeping her pillow. Tune in….

That was the TV version, remember?
* * *
Real life goes more like this:

“You’re what? You must be crazy! At your age? When are you due?”

She too looks at her son-in-law in a whole new light. Glare might be the better word. This baby’s older brother will be not quite 2? years old, and his mother is approaching 44.

The first one came a month early, weighed 5-something, and had to be monitored carefully. Not that his family needed medical reasons to watch that long-awaited baby closely. Adored by all, he couldn’t help but thrive.

His grandmom, however, was in Europe, convinced by her daughter’s doctor that the pregnancy would go full-term, to September 23. The grandparents made the decision to complete a long-planned visit to Sardinia and stuck by their September 15 home-going itinerary.

Mistake. The boy was born August 20 and his grandma didn’t meet him until he was nearly four weeks old. Hence her determination to be on hand when his brother arrives.

How often does a grandmom get a reprieve like this? She vows not to squander it.

So if a first child comes a month early, when would you expect the second one? Anywhere from two to six weeks early, wouldn’t you say?

Surely he’ll be born by the time you read this. Surely!

The baby is due January 16. Grandmom flips a coin and decides to stay at home for Christmas. Home is 700 miles from where her daughter lives. If The Call comes, it would take two days to get there anyhow, so she really doesn’t have a plan, just a calculated risk. When friends ask her and Grandpa about their holiday plans, they get shrugged shoulders.

“Plans? Oh, we can’t make plans. Our daughter’s having a new baby, you know.”

Christmas comes and Christmas goes and the grandparents head more or less north, stopping for a visit with friends. When asked about their plans, they shrug again. “Our daughter’s having a baby, you know. We can’t make plans.” What a noble pair. What grandparents have ever endured such angst?

At last. They’re in Virginia. They no longer have to make sure cell phones are charged and handy, a habit hard to break.

“How are you feeling, dear?” becomes the first question in the morning, the last at night. Now the daughter shrugs. “A couple of contractions last evening, nothing much.”

She’s huge. Her mother frets. Her father is bored, buys an intricate 18th century ship model to work on. He starts talking about driving home.

Nearly two weeks pass. Slowly. Didn’t we just watch Commander in Chief?

The official due-date is at hand. The excitement about a new grandbaby is beginning to, well, fade. Surely, this will be the week. Surely..