“Baby Boomer” Gets a Glimpse of “Generation Z” in 3D

I am a baby boomer, one of the approximate 76 million people born between the years 1946–1964.  For some reason, that term has sort of defined where I fit in my whole life.  For me, being a baby boomer means that I grew up with one black and white TV and had a phone attached to the wall with a rotary dial and a very short cord that used to get tangled all the time and now I have four flat-screen high-definition TVs in my home, six cordless telephones, three laptops, two iPads and carry around two cell phones wherever I go (one personal and one for work).  Now I have cyber friends and family whom I have never actually met in person and friends and family whom I text more often than I talk to or see.  Yet still, I am in awe of the advances in technology, especially, when it comes to my daughter’s pregnancy. 

This past Friday, I was recruited by Lindsay to accompany her to the “anatomy-scan sonogram”.  Scott had been away for two weeks in frigid Minnesota and even though he was due back on Friday, Lindsay wanted me to come with her in case Scott was delayed.  I was more than happy to oblige, naturally.  This is the sonogram where they measure and examine all the organs, the fetal brain structure, the facial features, the spine, arms, legs, heart and umbilical cord and placenta to check for any abnormalities.  They also can determine, for certain, that it is a boy or a girl; however, Lindsay and Scott already found out the gender at the 16­–week sonogram. 

In order to meet my daughter in time for her appointment, I had to leave my regional staff meeting early.  Unfortunately, the train station by the office in lower Manhattan, is still closed due to the damage of Hurricane Sandy, so I had to run like a lunatic through the labyrinth streets of the financial district looking for the “2” train to get me to Penn Station in time to catch the 1:14 train to Mineola.  The air was bitter cold, too, which didn’t help my lungs and I ended up huffing and puffing feeling like I did ten wind sprints.  I did make the 1:14 with plenty of time to spare and Scott’s flight got in early, so he was able to meet us there. 

We waited an hour and a half in the waiting room, which turned out to be a good thing because the sonogram technician felt so bad for our long wait that she allowed both Scott and me into the room.  Lindsay had prepared me for this sonogram explaining that it was an hour long and that a portion of it was in 3D so we could get a closer look at the baby. 

I had no idea what this 3D sonogram was going to be like.  Being a baby boomer, I continue to be fascinated by the quantum leaps I have seen in technology.  Just today I met my friend, Nancy, for coffee and while I told her about this advanced sonogram and showed her the amazing picture on my phone she was telling me about a wedding she attended where the groom read his wedding vows from an iPad.  Even though we made our arrangements only through Facebook, both got to our meeting place via our GPS and had our smart phones by our side that we used at one point to Google something, ironically, we still discussed our wonderment of the ubiquitous world of technology we live in now.  I told Nancy I almost expected that they would give me those 3D glasses that they give you prior to seeing a 3D movie before viewing the sonogram. 

My generation still remembers playing hopscotch on the street and using a typewriter.  I even still possess the antiquated juicer that I grew up using, although I have no use for it now.  My granddaughter’s generation is part of what they call “Generation Z”, which is the first generation to be born with complete technology and has never known a world without the Internet.  As a matter of fact, she’s on the Internet now without even being born.  When my daughters were born, we had to wait for the hospital to give us the pictures of our newborn, now mothers hold their iPhone in one hand while delivering their baby, ready to use the camera app and take a picture seconds after the birth.

I stood next to my son-in-law for the whole hour, which felt like it flew by, watching the images for the first part of the ultrasound of little Tallulah- not her real name, just our nickname for her- trying to figure out exactly what they were, without the technician telling us.  I was able to see each vertebrae of her spine and the bone structure of her legs.  We confirmed her gender- three lines for a girl.  Her feet were kicking; her hands were waving. She is 14 ounces and actually on the higher end of weight for this stage, even though Lindsay is a petite 4’10” and Scott is only about 5’8”. Thankfully, every measurement was perfect, even though to me she is beyond perfect. 

After that ultrasound, they used a larger probe that showed the images on the screen in 3D.  (We didn’t have to wear the glasses like you do in the movie theater, after all.)  We were able to see her face, her beautiful little lips, her nose, her chin; she was covering her eyes with her hands as if playing “peek-a-boo”. Lindsay and Scott were trying to see if she had Kalmus features or Feldman features.  Scott said she had Lindsay’s chin.  It didn’t matter to me, whose features she has.  To me, she just looks like the most precious moment you could picture in your life.  

It was a very long day- a day of catching trains and planes for a momentous occasion, a day of waiting, and then finally, a day of beholding a vision of the miracle of life.  In any generation, that is still more amazing than advanced technology, in my opinion.   Still, on that day, I, a baby boomer, got to see a three dimensional image of my yet to be born Generation Z granddaughter, a moment I never would have imagined while playing hopscotch as a little girl.  There is a quote that comes to mind “Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”  This was one of those moments. 

Tallulah at 21 weeks (playing peek-a-boo?)

Footprints

Your feet will bring you where your heart is.

Irish proverb

Lindsay is now officially 5 months pregnant, halfway there.  Last Sunday, when I was home resting from what I thought was the flu but turned out to be just a 48-hour bug, Lindsay and Scott had a sonogram done by her friend, Renae, who is a sonogram technician.  I was disappointed that I couldn’t go because I was sick. However, the consolation prize turned out to be extremely good sonogram pictures, one where I can actually see that there is, in fact, a baby in there.  The first picture that she sent me, via iPhone message is this:

Do you see those cute little feet?  With ten perfect little toes (thank G-d!).  This is a very important picture of my granddaughter, one that I will cherish my whole life.  I remember when both Lindsay and Kim were born, the first thing Mark and I did was count their toes and fingers.  Then the hospital took a footprint, which I still have of both my girls. Who would have thought that as a grandma, I would get a footprint of my granddaughters feet months before she is even born, one where I could do the toe-count check?  Who would have thought that I could do this when they are actually about an inch long, the size of half of my pinky finger?  In about four months, I will hold those precious feet in my hands and remember the size they were when I first beheld them. 

Coincidently, my whole week became about feet.  Kimberly found out she had her first full-time job interview in the new field she has chosen to enter.  It was also in the college she wanted to work in.  Of course she had to buy the right pair of interview shoes. Buying shoes for Kimberly is no small feat- no pun intended. 

So, naturally, on Monday night, we went to DSW ­– the shoe warehouse, aptly named because DSW is both impressive and oppressive as you enter and glimpse countless aisles of shoes, boots, sneakers etc.  It's daunting!  You would think that we would have a grand selection of shoes for Kim to choose from.  You would think that, but no.  First of all, Kim is a size “7” the most popular size and the first one stores run out of.  Add to that the fact that poor Kim has flat, wide feet and cannot wear heels, not to mention her tendency to give up easily.  She didn’t inherit her feet from me, nor her tendency to give up.  So after she walked down a couple of aisles, saying either- These will kill my feet, or Of course they don’t have my size, I told her to sit down while I went down aisle after aisle, carrying about 25 pairs of shoes back and forth for her to try on.  It felt more like 100 pairs after 20 minutes.  And let me tell you this, the aisles in DSW are long, very long. 

Still, I persevered, while Kim sat there, complaining about her feet and insisting that she will never find a pair of shoes that she can walk confidently into an interview with.  Pair after pair was either too tight, too loose, slipped in the back when she walked or made her stumble when she practiced walking in them.  She was getting crankier while I was getting weary, running up and down the long, oppressive DSW aisles, carrying back more shoes for her to try, like an idiot. I had a vision in my head of my alter ego- slapping myself across the face, saying “Stop trying to FIX everything!”  Of course this is my version of the truth, because Kim’s version is that I’m just a "crazy shoe shopper". 

In the end, Kim walked out of DSW, with only the shoes she wore on her feet.  But when she went home and tried on a pair of my shoes- they fit her perfectly and looked great with the dress she planned to wear to the interview.  Moral of the story: all she had to do was “click her heels” to find the right pair of shoes in her mom’s closet at home.  There’s no place like mom’s closet. 

Still, I persisted in trying to locate one of the possible pair of shoes Kim liked that they didn’t have in a size 7 in the DSW on Long Island.  And when I went to Staten Island during the week for work, I did find them only to bring them home to find out, not surprisingly, that even the right size were uncomfortable on Kim’s feet.  So, I had to return them, but I rewarded myself with a beautiful new pair of black suede shoe boots.  And when I came home I told Kim to keep the pair of shoes she was borrowing from me.  Happy feet. Happy ending.

But the shoe search saga doesn’t end here.  My mom has been complaining about her shoes for the longest time and we discovered that as she is aging and getting thinner and shorter, her feet are getting smaller as well.  Is this the story of life- as our progeny develop in the womb, growing, we are shrinking?  Anyway, I made a date with my mom on Friday to look for shoes for her, not in DSW, mind you.  We went to Macy’s. 

And there I was again, I had my mother sit on a chair, while I went through the shoe department looking for the perfect shoe for my mother’s not so perfect feet.  Unlike DSW, Macy’s does have people to help you locate your size, but on that day, they were naturally, nowhere to be found.  I ended up finding the shoes myself, right on the shelf.  Of course, the sales people suddenly appeared when we had to pay for them.

The middle part of the week was eventful too.  Lindsay had pains in her stomach from Monday through Thursday and when she called her ob-gyn, they told her to come in for an ultrasound.  Scott has been away for two weeks in freezing Minnesota, so I went with her.  Thankfully, everything was okay- her belly is just stretching and she needs to drink more water.  Luckily, though, I got to sit in on this ultrasound, albeit a very brief one with a very impatient technician. Although, after graciously thanking her about 10 times and telling her I never saw the ultrasound in person, she ended up printing it up and clipping off a copy for me, which I carefully tucked into my wallet to carry around forever.

Yesterday, Lindsay, my mom and I went shopping for the perfect “coming home from the hospital” outfit, which is a story for another blog entry.  Afterward, she stayed for dinner and then we watched a movie.  Apparently, sweets wake the baby up in the womb, so Lindsay had a delicious bowl of Edy’s Slow Churned Caramel Delight ice cream and I had one too.  Then we sat on the couch, my hand on Lindsay’s growing belly and I felt those little one-inch feet kicking for the first time.  The movie was very depressing, but all I felt was joy. 

It could have been her feet, and then again it could have been her hands and here’s one waving “bye-bye” until next time.

What's in a Name?

20 Weeks and 6 Days to Go (approximately, of course)

It’s a foggy Sunday Morning and we’ve all been up since around 6am;  me- because even though I prudently took a flu shot, somehow came down with the flu, Mark- because he couldn’t sleep (most likely because when I’m sick I moan all night and call out for him to tell him I’m sick) and my mother- probably because we’re up and she might as well be up with us.  The only one still asleep is Kim, who has the flu too. 

Actually, I’m probably up because I can’t seem to get enough room in a king size bed with a small size 18 pound dog.  When I had my 65 pound chocolate lab mix and she didn’t give me enough room, all I had to do was say, “Move, Coco” and she would obey.  Not Sonny- he thinks we’re sleeping in his bed.  He settles into whatever position I’m lying in and conforms to my body as if I’m a Tempurpedic mattress.  And when I try to move him- he stubbornly digs himself in and it feels as if he’s a 100 pounds.  If I can budge him even the slightest, he growls at me.  He’s an angel when he’s awake but when he’s sleeping, he acts like he’s an attack dog.  So I wake up all twisted and achy (feeling like the “grandma” I will soon become) and he jumps out of bed like he can be the first dog to compete in the Olympics for gymnastics. 

Added to the fact that I’m cranky from being sick and sleeping with an inconsiderate dog, I’m also upset because I was supposed to go with Lindsay today while her friend does an ultrasound for her.  Her friend, Renae, is an ultrasound technician and Lindsay is able to get ultrasounds if Renae can fit her in.  Now I can’t even be near Lindsay because I don’t want to get her sick.  I am very upset about this because I was really looking forward to catching a glimpse of my little granddaughter on the inside.  I am hoping somehow that we can “face-time” with our iPhones so I can possibly see the ultrasound that way. I might as well make use of all the advanced technology we have today.

Who would have thought that when I became a grandma I would be able to watch a sonogram through my phone?  On top of that I also have two apps on my iPhone, which give me weekly and daily reports of the pregnancy and another cute little “app” called “wee mail” which gives me email updates from the baby; and as I write this, I just got an alert on my phone with a new wee mail coming in, which says, “They say my movements feel like popcorn popping.  So that’s why you downed an entire bottle of squeezable butter.”  Yes the “wee mail” baby has a sense of humor. 

I have all these apps neatly arranged in a little folder on my phone along with an app for me- on menopause, which I really don’t use.  I also have two apps for baby names, so I can try to guess the mystery name of my granddaughter, which her parents refuse to divulge.  At first, Lindsay said that if I guessed the name she would tell me I’m right; so we had a few days of me being “Rumplestiltskin” and asking her all the possible names beginning with E, G, J or L.  Then Scott said that she should keep the name a secret.  Well touché- because now I’m keeping what the baby is going to call ME a secret, too.  I just checked out a few websites, which have unique names for grandmas.  It seems there are a vast array of names to choose from—and there’s even a book, The New Grandparents Name List, a Lighthearted Guide to Picking the Perfect Grandparent Name.  So there!

Meanwhile, when I talk to my granddaughter- and yes I talk to her because the pregnancy app said she would recognize voices, at first, I didn’t know what to call her.  So I began to call her by a fruit or vegetable, because that’s how the pregnancy apps describe the size of the baby.  Well, it does make sense to compare gestation to the produce department.  Possibly, Gwyneth Paltrow named her daughter “Apple” for this reason.  Initially, I called my granddaughter “my sweet potato”, then “my little mango”.  I even bought the fruit or vegetable that week and showed Mark the size of his granddaughter and had him carefully practice holding her.  However, the pregnancy apps are inconsistent; for example, at 17 weeks it could be the size of a turnip, a pear or an onion.  There’s even one week, I think 13, where they compared the baby to a shrimp- I don’t know how they got the fish department involved.  Finally, Lindsay decided to give the baby a nickname—Talulah.  So, that’s what I’m calling her now.  I even like that name. 

All this reminded me of a time, back in 2000, when I was traveling for business and sitting in an airport terminal in some state I don’t recall.  What I do recall, distinctly, is there was a young couple sitting at the gate with their little girl, an adorable toddler, maybe two years old.  The mom kept calling her “Sweet Potato”.  At that time, I used to carry a writing journal with me at all times because most of my work involved teaching teachers how to teach writing and I wrote this poem, based on all the different pet names we call our children.  I managed to dig up that writing journal and found the poem, dated December 9, 2000, a little more than 13 years old, when Lindsay was a young lady of 18.  Here it is….

Sweet Potato

Mommy calls me “Sweet Potato”,

Though I couldn’t tell you why. 

And when Daddy tucks me in at night,

He calls me “Tootsie Pie”. 

Nanny calls me her “Chocolate Chip Cookie”,

Cause that’s her favorite treat. 

And Poppy calls me “Sugar”,

Cause he says I’m very sweet. 

They also call me “Honey Bunny” and “Munchkin”

It all just sounds the same.

Could it be that honestly, they just forgot my name?

The Big Reveal

While I was pregnant with Lindsay, Mark would constantly rub my tummy and repeat, “my son, my son”.  So when Lindsay was born and the doctor announced,  “It’s a girl!”, I looked at Mark and asked, “Are you upset?”  “Of course not!” he answered, through his happy tears. 

Nowadays, because of the advanced technology we have, parents can get to know the sex of their baby way before it is born.  Consequently, doctors are no longer the only ones who get to be the first to reveal the sex of babies, ultrasound technicians can and in the case of my daughter, bakers can also.  Hence, the big reveal. 

This is how it works: if the technician, during the 16 week ultrasound or in some cases the 20 week ultrasound is able to determine the sex of the baby (three lines for a girl and one line for a boy), she writes it on a piece of paper, while the parents do not look, folds it and puts it in a sealed envelope.  The parents then take this envelope to the baker, who is the only one to open it and then bakes the cake that is either pink (girl) or blue (boy) on the inside and frosts the evidence with unisex colored frosting. 

Then, the parents invite family over, wearing either pink or blue, and the suspense begins, with guesses and predictions until the mother and father finally cut the cake to find out what’s inside the cake and of course, what’s inside her belly. 

When it comes to my daughter, there’s always some kind of ceremony, involving suspense and decorations. 

What kind of decorations do we need?  Isn’t the cake enough?

Maaahhh-om, we need to make a poster to tally who thinks boy, and who thinks girl and we need dowels with either a mustache or red lips for everyone to hold while we cut the cake.  We also need to make some signs and get some yarn and clothespins.

Clothespins???

Maah- to hang the sonogram pictures!

Of course!!

So back to….. Michael’s!--  the craft store.  I remember the last time I was there to get the finishing touches for decorations for the wedding.

The reveal was set for Sunday, December 22, because the technician was able to see the sex of the baby at the 16-week sonogram.  I had already invited Lindsay and Scott for a belated Hanukkah dinner celebration on that night.  Now the plans were getting more complicated. On Saturday, my cousin, Eileen, from Florida, flew into New York, to spend the week with us.  I had to pick her up at LaGuardia airport in the midst of all this preparation.  Luckily, Eileen offered to do all the cooking for the Hanukkah dinner and we headed straight to the supermarket to get the food.  When we got home, Lindsay, my younger daughter, Kim, Eileen and I all got to work decorating the dining room for “The Big Reveal”. 

On Sunday morning, I dug out an old pink shirt that I hadn’t worn in ages.  I had a strong feeling it was a girl because I had a dream in the fall of a baby girl and I knew in that dream it was Lindsay and Scott’s baby.  I’ve had dreams before that have come true.  I dreamed of Kimberly the night she was conceived.  Nine months after, when they put Kim in my arms, I realized she was exactly the baby in my dream. 

I was the only one, besides for my brother, sister-in-law and nephews who were on the “Pink Team”.   I told Lindsay I wanted my granddaughter to know I’ll always be on her side from here on in. Lindsay was on the blue team, wearing the blue polka-dot maternity dress I had bought her for Hanukkah.  My mother was on the pink team first, but then switched to the blue team. 

We ate the delicious potato pancakes and noodle pudding Eileen prepared, filling us along with the butterflies in our stomachs, growing more anxious as time ticked away towards the big cake cutting moment. 

The rest of the family arrived and finally Jaimie arrived, Lindsay’s friend and the baker, along with Herb, her fiancé and the beautiful cake.  Everyone wrote his or her name on either the boy’s side or girl’s side of the tally poster we made. Anticipation was building.

And then the cake was cut to reveal……PINK!  It’s a girl- a granddaughter!  Of course I would’ve been just as excited if it were a grandson.  Although, I am really excited about the clothes—girl’s clothes are so irresistible.  And naturally, I realized that it will be four generations of women- my mom, me, my daughter and my granddaughter. 

What’s her name?  (Everyone asked.)

Oh, we’re not revealing that.  Some things still have to be a surprise.

Prologue

Mother of the Bride, Part 2: A Grandma Journey

And a new blog is born….

PROLOGUE

This is the blog I’ve been eagerly anticipating writing- the one I’ve planned since February 2012.  But you know what they say about plans….

My lovely bride is married 2 years and 4 months, even though she is past the bride stage and even past the newlywed stage.  Her lovely house is 6 minutes away, which puts a smile on my face.  I am thankful that she is in the same state as we are and as close as the next town. 

2012 is gone and I wish it good riddance.  It was a year full of heartache, sorrow, illness, and an awful hurricane on top of it all.  Even the spark of promise and hope was dissipated.  It began almost a year ago when we lost my wonderful brother-in-law, Scott, in an instant, when he collapsed on his bedroom floor; his effervescent presence vanished from our lives. 

Lindsay decided after her Uncle died, “life was too short and unpredictable”;  it’s time to have a baby and bring joy into our lives.  She got pregnant right away and on Valentines Day she and husband, Scott, gave us cards and gifts with the surprise announcement that we were to be grandparents sometime in October.  We were told to keep it a secret because of the uncertainty of the first trimester.  Just at the time when I thought I could share my happiness with everyone and begin a new blog, we got the awful news at the 12- week sonogram that the baby’s heart stopped beating.  Our hearts were broken. 

The year got worse and worse; I could write a book about 2012 and how awful it was.  Mark, my husband, dislocated his shoulder falling on ice in the backyard a few days before his brother died and has dislocated it three times since this accident.  It needs surgery; but instead of getting that surgery, he had to have emergency hernia surgery.  My brother-in-law’s children have been removed from our lives because of his nefarious ex-wife.  His home was in the ill-fated Rockaway Park, which was hit hard from Hurricane Sandy, and my sister-in-law is bravely trying to go on, recovering from all that she lost.   

Through it all, Lindsay and Scott persevered with their plans to have a baby and continued to try.  We waited and waited, hoping at least that she would get pregnant by the time her first baby was due- October 20^th.  I prayed.  My mom prayed; she even got her friend from the senior center, Mary Lillian, to pray.  All we had to do was wait for our prayers to be answered.  Meanwhile, I kept looking suspiciously at Lindsay’s belly. 

Thanksgiving came– my favorite holiday.  Lindsay and Scott hosted Thanksgiving at their home as they did the year before.  They initiated a new holiday tradition this year and gave us little pieces of paper and told us to write what we were thankful for but not to write our name.  We were to put these little notes into a cup and then pass it around the table, take one out and guess who wrote it.  My mother picked the note that said “I am thankful for expanding our house by two feet”.  It took a while for us all to “get it” and discover that the two feet belonged to our grandbaby.  Our prayers were answered.  Thanksgiving did not let us down. 

Still, I was told by my very supersticious daughter that even though she was 12 weeks pregnant already, I was not to tell anyone until she gave us the okay.  So this blog lay dormant, but in my mind, I was writing it every day, cautious not to put any words to a page while still in the hapless year of 2012.  Although, some good things did happen in 2012- especially on Thanksgiving. 

And today, the first Sunday of 2013 is the beginning of my documentation as I enter this new journey…a grandma journey.  The number 13 has many good qualities. It represents the number of revolutions the moon makes around the earth in a year.  In ancient Israel, 13 was a sanctified number.  So, welcome! 2013

And my lovely bride, now a wife of 2+ years is 18 weeks pregnant.  The number 18 also has many good qualities.  In Hebrew, the word “Chai” means life and also is represented numerically by the number 18.    How fitting. 

And the grandma journey begins with the countdown of 21 weeks and 6 days to the estimated due date of June 8 and then the best journey of all:  as Grandma Jeannie. 

Nanny, with the Thanksgiving note, who will be Great Grandma soon!