Are you my mommy?

Well it happened. I wasn't waiting for it. Didn't even remotely consider the possibility. But it happened.

I got mistaken for Ila's grandma. Or rather, a 50- or 60-something lesbian minister (and a very good minister at that) asked me, "Is this your granddaughter?"

I should've said "Take a look at these boobs, do they look full of the milk of life or what? I'm her momma." (I had just been breasfeeding). But I just said, and sheepishly I admit, "No, I'm her mom."

Yikes. Good thing I've started on a post-baby, self-imposed three-month defrumping program. I've lost a few pounds, got a new hairdo, and have been tossing out old clothes. Trying in general not to be a "frumpasaurus." If I hadn't been on the this kick, who knows, I might have been mistaken for Ila's great grandma. He. He. Hee?

Well, I think anyone reading this blog knows that people are having kids older. But does everyone know that? Apparently not. Wonder if this will happen in the future, when, say, Ila's in the fourth grade. Will the other kids say, "Is that your grandma?" I sort of doubt it, but it does make one wonder...

I remember, ruefully, my own behavior towards my grandma when I was old enough to care what other people thought. One day, when I was, say, 10 years old, she took me grocery shopping. I desperately wanted people to know that SHE WAS NOT MY MOTHER SHE WAS MY GRANDMA. So, sadly, anytime a person walked by our basket, I would say -- loud enough for the passerby to hear -- "GRANDMA..." What a dumb kid I was. I loved my grandma so much and look what I did. Hopefully she never knew what I was up to.

I guess its coming back to haunt me in a weird way. Spooky.

Anyway, reality check, do I really look like Ila's grandma in this picture? I think not.