Birthdays
It’s shortly before midnight on Saturday as I write this. During Christmas dinner at the folks,’ The Spouse tells me we’ve been invited to a birthday party — my new nephew’s first birthday, which I believe is actually Monday. The party is 3 p.m. Sunday.
For those of you who just started lurking, this youngster I speak of is the kid my bro had with his longtime co-worker and side girlfriend. The little boy was born as my brother’s wife was dying from a lung disease. She died last March.
I admit I was a bit taken aback about the invite. I hadn’t been expecting it. The party’s happening at my brother’s girlfriend’s home. That means I’m going to see this kid’s mom for the first time in probably 14 years. This will be the first time my wife’s met her.
My brother’s still wanting to integrate this person into the family, but my mom and sister continue to balk at a relationship with the woman, although they’ve warmed to the baby. It doesn’t help that this ice cream and cake-fest also is happening on my mom’s birthday, which is Sunday.
OK, I’ll go. I’ve still got a ton of questions for this woman. I don’t think this party is the time or place to ask, however.
