Not the Thanksgiving countdown.
Not even the Christmas countdown.
It's the Connor countdown.
It's just less than four weeks until our grandson is due to arrive.
"Wow, that went fast!" I said to my husband the other night as we marked the date by buying the baby yet another present.
"Well, it probably doesn't seem so fast to Nantana," he replied.
True. My tiny little daughter-in-law is getting pretty unwieldy these days. The last weeks of pregnancy are always
uncomfortable downright miserable. By the time labor begins you want that kid out of there so badly you don't even care how painful the process is.
Throughout the pregnancy I've been thoroughly impressed with Connor's parents, and their level of preparedness. They've completed all the necessary classes, installed the car seat and practiced removing it from its cradle, set up the crib and play yard, arranged all the little clothes in the closet, laid in a good supply of diapers.
They've even submitted the paperwork for Connor's birth certificate and Social Security number. After all we must make sure Uncle Sam can identify him right from the get-go.
But as my friend C. and I discussed earlier today, you're never really prepared for the way having a child changes your life. Not just the nitty gritty details of everyday living, but your entire perception of the world. You can never quite reproduce the kind of attachment, the deep and abiding sense of love, the awesome sense of responsibility, or the utter wonder of it all that you experience when you bring a child into the world.
I'm not sure I even got the full impact of it until much later, when my son was all grown up and on his own. Looking back over 20 or 25 years, seeing the trajectory of a life you've created and nurtured, you become aware of just how miraculous it all really is.
And now it's about to start all over again.
So let the countdown continue. I know I'm ready.