The Mets are going to the World Series! The Mets are going to the World Series! They swept the Cubs! They won the National League Championships!! All of my kids are still up; they have exams tomorrow; they are all going to be cranky. Husband #1, the Yankee fan, went to sleep an hour and a half before the game ended. This being totally hypocritical on his part because if his precious Yankees were playing, he would be up watching the game. So, when I Facetimed son #1 and brought the phone upstairs so he could see that his favorite parent was sleeping through this amazing time in a Mets fan’s life, I got yelled at for waking him up (by husband #1, not son #1). Really? I have to suffer through Giants games, Ranger games, Knicks games and he can’t let me celebrate my Mets? Now you all know the real reason why he is known as husband #1—because husband #2 is going to watch my teams with me….
As I was watching this game with sons 2 and 3 and a friend of son #3 (who doesn’t even like baseball, but when in Rome..), I said aloud, “I am the only one in this room who was alive the last time the Mets won the World Series.” Yup. Can’t say that about anyone who was alive the last time the Cubs won the World Series…but there is always next year. I wish my Mets the best of luck and for all of you who read my column and don’t like sports, be happy to know that the season will be over very, very soon and I will only be able to get one more column out of the Mets…for this year anyway. But for the record, I did start writing about them very early on in the season, with the optimism of every Mets fan, so maybe Sports Illustrated will hire me to do their yearly predictions, or not. Be happy the New Jersey Devils aren’t doing well or I would be writing about them.
In any event, this week’s column was originally not even going to mention baseball, it was going to be about babies. On a serious note, in 1988, Ronald Reagan proclaimed October as National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. For those of you who know me, you know that I suffered three miscarriages after the birth of son #3. The humorous spin on that, and believe me, I never thought I would get to a point where I would find anything about that time in my life humorous, is that every time some moron asks why I didn’t try for a girl I can say, “Well, didn’t quite work out for me,” and make them feel really uncomfortable. Because I am a bad person. But only sometimes. And people shouldn’t say those things. People who haven’t gone through pregnancy or infant loss really cannot relate to those who have because it just isn’t relatable. The only thing that I will say to women who have gone through this or are currently going through this, is to know that it will get better, it will take time and you will know how much time you need, but you will get through it (even if you are never able to have another baby like me) and you won’t always hate pregnant people.
Which is a good thing because (okay, here comes the humor part) my friend had a baby boy last week. Now, normally you hear someone has a boy and you are like “yippee—it’s a boy…when do I get my bagel?” But this boy has his work cut out for him. Dad has four girls. Mom has four girls. This poor, poor, adorable little boy has eight sisters. Eight sisters—he has eight sisters!!!!! When I went to visit this cutie, the only scenario in my head was when this poor kid brings home his future wife. The eight sisters will all be lined up, some of them, God willing, with kids of their own, and they will make this girl walk down the line while shooting random questions at her. “Can you cook?” “Are you covering your hair?” “Are you going to work after you have kids?” “Do you enjoy hosting family get-togethers?” “Is that your real nose?” Can you imagine? Eight sisters…God bless. I wonder how long before he wears his first dress… Good luck, little guy! And Let’s Go Mets! (Had to get that in, sorry, almost over…)
Banji Ganchrow will be celebrating her birthday on Sunday. Please feel free to send flowers and gifts because her family will probably forget…
By Banji Latkin-Ganchrow
