“You’re going to be a grandmother.”
“Oh my god.” She covers her mouth with both hands. “Oh my god. Does your dad know?”
“He does, actually.”
She laughs and swipes at her eyes. “I can’t believe this. I—when did you—how did—”
“The normal way, Mom.”
“I know that. I just—” She takes a breath. “I’m in shock. Good shock.”
“I have the ultrasound in my purse if you want to see it.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I want to see it.”
I run inside and grab my purse, pulling out the small black-and-white photo. When I hand it to her, she stares at it like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen.
“Look at that,” she whispers. “That’s my grandchild.”
“Weird, right?”
“The best kind of weird.” She looks up at me. “How are you feeling?”
“Nauseous. Exhausted. Terrified.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Did you feel like this? With Michalis or Allie?”
“Worse. I threw up for four months straight with them both.” She hands the photo back carefully. “But it was worth it. Every second.”
We sit there for a moment, both of us staring at the ultrasound.
“I’m scared,” I admit quietly.
“Of what?”
“Everything. Being a bad mom. Messing them up. Not knowing what I’m doing.”
She takes my hand. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
“I was terrified when I became your mom.”
I look up at her. “You were?”
“Absolutely terrified. You were six years old. You’d already lost one mother. And here I was, this twenty-six-year-old who had no idea what she was doing, trying to figure out how to be what you needed.”
“You were exactly what I needed.”
“But I didn’t know that then. I just knew I loved you. And I showed up.” She squeezes my hand. “That’s all parenting is, really. Loving them and showing up.”
“What if I’m not good at it?”
“You will be. You know how I know?”
“How?”
