A week after my 45th birthday, I became a grandmother. Of course, I was forewarned. I’d had the full nine months to prepare, but sometimes the knowledge of what’s to come isn’t quite enough.
My son and his partner are a tightknit pair. They’ve known each other seven years or so, much of that time spent under my roof. They now live in the next house along, a five-minute walk away through lush hinterland country, a forgiving distance for fledgling adults. My first surprise was the announcement, but my second was their enthusiasm. The pregnancy had been unplanned, but they were elated. They were to be young parents, though not quite as young as I had been.
