these are the days of our lives. I can still hear the melodramatic reading of something similar to those lines from whatever few huddled neurons in my brain store childhood home-sick-from-school memories.
But our days do slip by, seemingly more quickly each passing year.
And then you get the phone call and suddenly you are pushed into a new generational category.
I've graduated from Aunt to Great Aunt. My brother is a grandfather (and the father of a 5 year old and a 1 year old, just to mess with the family genealogy). My mother is a great-grandmother. I suppose Auntie Anonymous can claim Great-Great Aunt status? The Yankee genes in me hinder the genealogical plotting skills that pure bred Southerners seem to do so easily.
But it was a girl. Eight pounds, twelve ounces. Pictures when available.
Thor sez: Betcha I'm still cuter!