No, really, it's true!
Exhibit A: This was when we still lived in Michigan, so I wasn't more than four. I had spent the day with Grandma Rose, my mom's mom. (I don't remember what we did, but for the sake of this post let's just assume that we baked a six-tier wedding cake for our own enjoyment and then graffiti-ed the side of the house with the leftover icing and sprinkles.) Driving home with my mom, she was quietly thinking about her mom. I guess Grandma had looked a little frail or tired that day, and it worried Mom. She hadn't said anything out loud, but I suddenly burst into tears with, "I don't want Grandma to die!" Weird, right?
Exhibit B: In second grade, my parents went on a ski trip. I stayed home. Mom thought that she should buy me a little something to
Skip ahead a couple decades...
Exhibit C: Just today as Charlie and I were getting ready to leave Gramma's, I was sitting on the floor gathering our things. (OK, I was changing a diaper.) Apropos nothing, I almost blurted out, "No, I didn't watch 'American Idol' last night." Almost, meaning I didn't actually say anything. But what did Mom actually say? "Well, it's the second night of Hollywood Week on 'Idol.'" Half telepathic-half verbal conversation. Cool!
So you see, there's a pretty strong connection between the women in my family. Charlie is the first-born daughter of a first-born daughter to a first-born daughter. I already feel that deep, almost vibrating pull between us.
Like last night while I was snuggling her to sleep.
The room was dark and quiet, but she was still awake. It was one of those perfect moments where I could see a little glimpse into our future, one where we whisper to each other about things like the best parts of our days after we read our favorite bedtime stories. I was pretty sure that Charlie could feel that magic connection, that she could sense something profound in the room.
And then she farted.