Ingenious plan needed for this grandchild thing to work out

The general concensus is that most folks my age are eagerly anticipating the arrival of grandchildren.

Mr. Lucky’s and my only child has been married for over five years now and has yet to be bitten by the baby-producing bug that most gals her age are obsessed with.

Ditto that for her hubby.

Up until just yesterday I was consoling myself with the fact that they’re “just not ready,” followed by “I’m glad they’re going to wait until their finances are in order,” culminating with “Well I’M not really ready yet…”

I know my kid—the more you try to press an issue, the more she digs in her heels. So I have been quietly waiting… and waiting… until yesterday’s phone call.

Something about that darn full moon triggers my Tourette’s Syndrome, and words simply escape out of my mouth with no apparent control.

Our family shares an uncanny knack for ‘direct speak’—we say what we mean and mean what we say.

Our conversation went like this:

“Okay Jamie, it’s a new year. When, exactly, can I expect the bundle of joy?”

“Not happening Ma.”

“’Scuse me?”

“We don’t want any so it’s time you give up the quiet vigilance, and stop sending me those baby vibes. Unless, of course, you plan on bringing the thing up.”

The Thing? Did she really just refer to my unborn grandbaby as a “Thing”? Why yes, she most certainly did, and in my heart of hearts I know she truly, honestly, does not want a baby.

And I know why.

Only-Child Syndrome.

Only-children learn early on how to amuse themselves when no other playmates are available.

As soon as she was physically capable of carrying a pail she started The Cage Crusade. From the stream in our backyard, her little pail would arrive on the deck teeming with wee little critters like minnows and itsy bitsy frogs.

We then progressed to gerbils and rat types, all of which required their own dreaded Cage.

In my efforts to teach her responsibility I insisted that she alone be in charge of feeding and maintaining her caged critters.

Fail.

The only thing these poor little creatures had in common was eventual demise.

EVERYthing died, and it was always her fault.

She would simply forget to feed/water/clean…and they would all croak from lack of nourishment.

We had the biggest back yard pet cemetery in Connecticut. Poor Lucky dug more graves than any cemetery employee anywhere. On the bright side, most were small and shallow.

We finally had to admit that our Jamie Lynn is just not a nurturer and always gets aggravated by anything that requires her assistance to… well… exist.

When our dog Yukon ate two of Crabby’s (hermit crab, lived quite long in spite of Jamie Lynn) legs, the poor thing hobbled around for another couple of months despite its missing limbs.

Somehow he had mysteriously been left out of his Cage and he too eventually died from lack of food, love, and legs.

She has, however, miraculously been able to keep her little dog Frank the Tank alive for some four years now, even traveling back east from California with him in tow.

The poor kitty Pork Chop, as well as stupid Captain Jack the snake, didn’t fare so well.

They remain buried in the desert somewhere in the Twenty Nine Palms area.

Last year they acquired Barnaby Jones the cat, and so far he seems to be holding his own—although from what I understand he’s quite the scrapper and has suffered some head wounds during his night time escapades.

Two weeks ago she captured and of course, Caged a mouse, dubbed Sir Squeaks Alot.

She’s also trying to mate some beta fish—in their own Cage of course.

Back to yesterday’s conversation:

“No, I do NOT want to bring The Thing up. I want you to, cuz you’ll HAVE to feed this one or go to jail.”

Bad choice of verbage there, followed by a lingering silence on both ends.

She was quietly snickering because she knew she won; I was silent because I knew I lost, and God knows how I hate to lose to a kid.

Bottom line, this could feasibly be the end of the D’Aprile blood line. Some would say yay…

I however will just have to continue to borrow a little from the Burns family, and start coaxing and pleading with Jake and Erin to please please make us a baby…