Babymoons and Winter Blues

I have the winter blues.  It always happens around this time.  Right after the stupid ground hog comes out and everyone waits for him to tell them if we will have an early spring or six more weeks of winter.  We have the ability to predict hurricanes, chase tornadoes and track the pattern of storms because we have meteorologists.  There are weather channels and weather.com; even my iPhone gives me the local weather for whatever place I travel to.  There are almanacs, for G-d’s sake!!  Yet still, without fail, every February 2, we rely on a glorified rodent to forecast how much longer winter will be.  This has always baffled me– how folklore gets so much media attention even in the 21^st century, how we personify a woodchuck and depend on him seeing his shadow or not, a contradiction to science, if there ever was one. The irony is that I actually stop and wait with bated breath when I hear the first news reports about the groundhog’s shadow and foolishly pray that he will forecast “early spring”.  Then I’m conflicted when the groundhogs in Pennsylvania and Staten Island don’t see their shadows and the ones in Long Island do. So, who’s right?  Who knows?  Who cares?  I just would like to meet the people who employ the groundhog or do the shadow test with him, year after year, and tell them, “Enough already! Don’t you think it’s time for all groundhogs to retire and move to Florida, North Carolina or Vegas?”  I think I’ll start a petition on Facebook, because there aren’t ENOUGH petitions on Facebook, don’t you think??

Back to my winter blues.  Actually I really think I’m blue because Lindsay and Scott went on their babymoon.  Yes, even spell check underlined that in red– because who ever heard of a babymoon?  This is news to me and to many of my middle-aged friends and family.  Although, if you check on Wikipedia, you will find the term ‘babymoon’, which has several meanings.  The meaning that my daughter uses is­– a vacation taken by a couple that is expecting a baby in order to allow the couple to enjoy a final trip together before the many sleepless nights that usually accompany a newborn baby.  So, the parents-to-be are now cruising on the Caribbean seas.  Perfect timing for them because at precisely one in the morning, while they were being rocked to sleep in their cabin, I was walking their dog, George, in the snow and had a sleepless night without a newborn.  And that is because George likes to sleep on your head.  I would like to initiate a new “moon” and call it a ‘grannymoon’.  It will be a vacation taken by a grandma-to-be in order to enjoy a final trip before she enters the stage of wrinkled skin, white hair and rocking chairs.

I helped Lindsay get ready for her babymoon by going clothes shopping for her and with her for maternity wear suitable for Caribbean weather.  I also lent her my summer clothes from last year.  If you ever dreamed of sharing clothes with your size “2” daughter, take note, ladies, your tops that cover your middle-aged stomach bulge and oversized shorts fit your pregnant daughter perfectly. 

In order to fight my winter blues, I had my hair dyed yesterday- touching up my white roots and defying the “grandma” look with rosy red hair and splurging on a cut and blow.  While at the hair salon, I read the food magazines, instead of the usual gossip tabloids about celebrities whom I don’t care about.  I found a recipe for shrimp and artichoke quesadillas and decided to make it Latin night at the Feldman’s.  I shopped at Trader Joe’s to get all the ingredients.  The store was packed because apparently everyone was stocking up for the one inch of snow that was predicted.  Then I purchased a lovely bottle of Sangria at the liquor store.  I even picked up a small bundle of wood for Mark to build a fire.  If I can’t go on a grannymoon, I figured I might as well bring the grannymoon to Hicksville, Long Island. The quesadillas even had imported Argentinean shrimp, in keeping with my Latin Theme.  Everything was perfect, down to the Sangria garnished with sliced oranges, apples and lemons, and it briefly lifted my spirits and suppressed my winter blahs.  Until I had to walk the babymooners’ dog in the snow at one am. 

Today, we will have our traditional, annual Superbowl Sunday at Barbara and Eric’s house.  I will be with all my friends; the guys will watch the game, while the girls probably won’t.  We will eat and drink and laugh and talk about grandbabies and weddings and all the exciting upcoming events.  This will also help my winter funk, as well as thinking about my little Talulah on her parents’ babymoon, kicking in her mommy’s belly, the size of a spaghetti squash, now.  I bought one at the supermarket yesterday and had Mark hold it, too, while I announced- “That’s the size of your granddaughter, now.” 

I hope the parents-to-be enjoy their babymoon and rekindle their love for one another as they embark on the voyage of parenthood and discover how their love will grow “beyond the seas” when their little girl arrives.  For me, I want this week to go by quickly and the rest of the winter to speed by, regardless of what Punxsutawney Phil, Staten Island Chuck, Malverne Mel or Holtsville Hal might “say”, because when Spring arrives, it will be closer to the birth of my granddaughter.