O.M.G. You do NOT ask a woman if she’s pregnant and you do NOT say, “Is this your grand daughter?” I’ve had both happen to me. In the case of the pregnancy question, I uttered “no, just fat” and ran out of the store in tears.
Not so much with the Grandma comment.
It happened yesterday in the church nave. As I was kidding around with my 14-year-old daughter and two of her friends, a kindly looking older woman walked up and said, “are these your grand daughters?” It was almost worth it to see the looks on the girls’ faces.
Having grown and matured since the preggie comment – and since I was in church – I said “this is my daughter and her friends.” Knowing that she had to talk around the big old shoe in her mouth, the older woman said “Oh. She’s lovely.” Then hot-footed it out of there.
The girls in question took a moment to recover from their horror and then one of them said, “gee, you don’t look that bad.” I informed them that silence was a virtue.
So I’m 40 years older than my daughter. Through years of growing up, restlessness, college, horrendous mistakes and some ill-advised behavior, I insisted that I didn’t want to be a mother. That was followed by more years of infertility treatments, the big “try” sex thing and wishing that I could be a mother.
At 40, it all came together with the adoption of the World’s Most Perfect Daughter. How do I know she’s all that and a cup of soup? When I brought up the “thing” yesterday and told her that 2011 was the year for cosmetic surgery so no one would mistake me for her grandmother, the WMPD said, “that’s silly, mom. Everyone gets older.”
I love that kid.