The Proposal

The German shepherd awoke us at sunrise on that July Sunday morning. Our  Cape Cod hideaway had that Sunday morning  sleepy peace, so rare  in a house filled with college and graduate school young adults. George and I went to mass together at Our Lady of Victory, sharing  rare  moments alone.
As we pulled back into the garage,  and  I noticed  bikes missing.  As  one who prides herself in knowing everything going on in my own household,   I was shocked; this meant all the kids were not at home! 

A.  and her boyfriend J.  were off on an early morning bike ride;  and my husband was in on the deal!   It seems George was awaiting a call to go to pick them up at SeaView Beach in Yarmouth. Why I asked? Because, they reasoned, A wouldn't want to bike back after J.  proposed to her!

Wow! My baby a bride!

Couldn't I see it coming?   It had been a fast trip from "Mom, I like him but I really don't want a serious relationship right now", to "Mom,  do we have chocolate chips, I'm baking cookies for J."
The next thing I knew, her sentences started to begin with: " J says...";
then: 'J thinks.." ;
then " J and I  are planning to...".

I went with George to pick up the afianced pair and their bikes  from the beach that morning. Clammers raked the shallows with  their floating baskets, oblivious to the momentous happenings. But mother nature knew;  her waves served up a million diamonds on the  rough surf  as if celebrating the the meaning of the white gold diamond  ring   sparkling on A's left hand.  But  it was the shining eyes of  those two that really lit up the universe. Never had I seen my daughter  happier.  Her diamond dazzling in the morning sunshine, we exchanged hugs, welcomes, and congratulations.

Thinking back, my shock was less about her and more about me. A.  is my little girl. She is a beloved middle daughter in full  household of   sisters. We are  the adventure-filled  twenty first century version of  Little Women.  And, I am Mommy.  I still worry if she has enough socks so she only has to do her laundry every two weeks. I want to know if she has enough notebooks and pencils for the semester;  does she wear  gloves  so her fingers don't freeze in Boston's January. Does  she drink enough milk to grow strong bones and prevent osteoporosis. Are her roommates - now apartment mates, compatible?  I still want to be her Mommy.
Even though my daughter has her own apartment, she still comes home and is part of my household.  This will change.  Her marriage means she will be the woman of her own household. She will be J's wife. She and he will be a family. My influence, as fleeting as it has been since she was sixteen, will be timed out. She will listen to him; this is as it should be. But  I wasn't prepared for this yet.
It seems that the last little vestige of  Mommying I have left is  to help plan HER wedding.

Actually,  what I never knew is that  A had a real jump on wedding planning.  When I was starting an internal medicine practice, she was playing bride doll Barbie. While I was studying for Internal Medicine Boards, she was watching "The wedding planner" on TV.  As  I was working extra  clinic hours to come up with her  college room and board, she was watching  wedding couples proceed  out of Marsh Chapel. During  church choir  rehearsals while  I  was  the soprano trying to stay on key,  A was  the alto interpreting  how the organ would sound for  HER Wedding  processional. HER Wedding took me  by surprise, but she has been preparing for HER Wedding her whole life.