_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Norma Jean DeMaggio is a full time writer and mother of a 6 year old.  She enjoys writing emotional poetry, more of her poetry can be found on http://www.writerscafe.org/newyearnorma. 

    There have been reports of middle aged aunts asking brides on their wedding days when there will be babies.

    You’ve just finished photos and are greeting your guests, when your Aunt Sylvie sidles up next to you and, with her eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline, says, “So, when can my sister expect grandchildren?”  
                 
     You glance over at your older cousin Theresa who was always so cool and knew everything about sex and drugs when you were a kid.  She’s now sitting at one of the tables in the corner, bouncing a fussy baby on her knee, looking as though she hasn’t slept in a week. That baby has sucked her tits to sagginess.  Even her hair looks limp and sad.  Her husband stands nearby, looking equally sleep deprived and trying to keep a toddler from bolting for the nearest sharp object.  
                
     Then you glance at your brand new husband, talking to his brother over near the bar.  He’s got his suit unbuttoned—you insisted on suits rather than tuxes, because they’re cooler—and he’s wearing sneakers like Doctor Who.  His hair looks great.  He catches your eye and winks and you imagine what it would be like if one of you was chasing a little brat around the party.  Your heart beats a little faster and you start to sweat.         
 
    You try to laugh Sylvie’s question off as a joke, but she says, “You don’t want to wait too long, you know.”  She says it with a smile and a wink, like she’s teasing, but Aunt Sylvie never teases and something tells you she is serious.

    You shrug.  “I don’t know, Aunt Sylvie,” you say, and kiss her on the cheek before dancing off to go find your friends and get properly drunk.

read more...