She was supportive, even though she didn’t particularly like, or trust, Mr. Big.
For good reason.
We had only been together a few months before I found myself pregnant and on my way to Regina, following the man I loved to a big, important job. I was 29, and had not yet divorced my philandering first husband.
But love is love. It’s the clay that builds newborns.
I was unbearably happy when Nicholas was born, and delirious still when Stefan came along in short succession. I loved my mommy life all through the next five years and the birth of my daughter Marissa.
Then Mr. Big took off and my dreams shattered like the glass house I had built for myself. It was all just a big, stupid romantic dream.
So when my eldest son finally fessed up that he and his young girlfriend were in the family way, I wasn’t excited, screaming from the roof tops. I couldn’t even manage to keep my mouth shut because that’s just not the way I’m built.
I gave Nicholas an earful, and then said: “Congratulations.”
I don’t believe they are ready to be parents. He doesn’t have a full-time job, or a car or even a viable bank account. Poverty does not a healthy baby guarantee. And I have some concerns about extra-curricular habits, which I also expressed.
The family reaction was similar.
“Yikes,” texted Stef.
“That’s messed up,” chimed in Marissa’s Jeff.
I’ve had some sage advice from Facebook friends which is basically about resisting the urge to dive in and manage things, or jump to the rescue every time the phone rings.
Another friend reminded me to say this: “Love to help, but…”
Thinking it over in the last couple of days, I’ve realized that I have no right to judge. I married a rich guy, popped out three kids, he left and I became poor anyway.
So what did I know?
I’m sure that’s the head space my mother found herself in when her crazy youngest daughter got knocked up the first time.
Plan it all you want — you can’t control the universe and you can’t control other people.
As John Lennon said: “Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans.”
And so it goes.
I will be Granny Rose in January 2012.
Some people say the world is ending next year.
For some it will be just beginning.