Mama-Come-Lately

7:30, a perfect June morning. The baby happy in his chariot with a hunk of apple, me happy with a piece of gum and my thoughts.

Across the street, a Russian granny, the one who used to wear the Pujols ball cap. She is not wearing it today. She moves slowly. They all do.

We cross to greet her.

“So big!”

“Yes, and walking!” I trot my fingers in the air to make sure she understands.

She spreads her arms to hug me, I think. I smell urine. I lean in anyway. She kisses me on the cheek and takes my hand in hers. I look down and see my great-grandmother’s hands, plump as sausages, soft as the baby’s.

“Boy?”

“Yes.”

“Nice boy.”

“Yes.”

She takes his hand, squeezes it. Ruffles his hair, makes doting Russian Granny noises. Smiles at him, her gold teeth shiny in the morning light. He is a little unsure but smiles back. She shuffles off with a “thank you.”

I continue my walk with tears in my eyes, not really sure why I’m crying, not really caring.