Today I'm 70, and the Sweetpea (our fabulous daughter) is 35 tomorrow. Today, 35 years ago, I'd come from the obstetrician who gave me the bad news she thought I was a week away from delivering the baby. So, big as the proverbial house, I trudged around the French Quarter, damp to my underwear, first having lunch with the Honey (ever lovin' husband) at our favorite restaurant, and second walking deep in the Quarter to the perfumery (Hove) for refills on the same perfumes I still wear today.
The temperature was still a reflection of the sticky summertime heat. (Weather wise, the 'heat' of the summer didn't break until two days after the Sweetpea was born. I can remember lamenting I was stuck inside the hospital on the first cool day we'd had since April!) My 35th birthday wasn't over, though. We went out for dinner with friends that night at Commander's Palace, famous NOLA restaurant established in 1893. It's still going strong.
The walk around the French Quarter in the extreme heat and humidity must have done the trick because I went into labor on the way home from the famous restaurant, and voila! New baby girl joined us at noon the next day on September 26th. This is the only birthday year I'm exactly twice her age.
Now, anyone who knows me knows I love birthdays. My attitude is there's no such thing as a bad birthday. I don't care how old you are; a birthday is a special day. One of the big problems the virus has caused and is causing all over the country right now is our lack of rituals. Believe me when I tell you I KNOW how fortunate I've been to be able to see my child and grandchild and son-in-law whenever I've wanted during this pandemic. We've celebrated birthdays, Mother's Day and Father's Day.
One of my birthday gifts was a renewal of my Met membership, and we returned to the Metropolitan Museum of Art today for our first visit since February. It's just reopened in a limited way. The number of people is controlled, so the galleries and halls seemed mostly empty. There's no food service, just bottled water, and lots of X's and O's on the floors for social distancing. I enjoyed the exhibition commemorating the 150th anniversary of the museum. It's been waiting to be admired since March when the Met closed. It was worth the wait.
Thirty lbs of Joy (AKA 'the Huckleberry) at 23 months was introduced to his first museum today. He loved it, and he once again proved my theory: Children rise to your expectation. His behavior was impeccable. He ate on the go. He took a nap in his stroller with just a few gentle suggestions from his mama. He outlasted my feet. However, I suspect when we quiz him tomorrow when we gather for birthday dinner (Mine, the Sweetpea's and the Honey's), he will be mostly excited about the subway and bus ride to the venue.
