Dear Great-Grandson to be:

This is me – your great-grandma Ford. I know you haven’t met me in person yet, but I am definitely one of your fans.

I just saw your captivating performance on the ultrasound, and, my boy, you certainly are a star! Only 20 weeks in the oven, and you already have Oscar-winning potential! I don’t know why they call it an “Ultrasound” though. Not to complain, but even with my new hearing aids, I couldn’t hear the soundtrack. I’m sure you’re going to have a terrific singing voice, though, just like your mama, Sonja.

After you arrive, I want to urge you to use your voice for gurgling and cooing and burping. Babies that do that are so much more popular than the ones who – Ahem! – make a scene by getting over-emotional and blubbering and being cranky just because they’re hungry, or wet, or have colic, or teething, or haven’t been able to visit their great-grandmothers.

You should know that when you come into the world, you will soon meet my two other great- grandchildren – both boys: Asa (known as A.J.) who’s 9 years old, and almost as tall as me, and Wesley, 2 years old, who comes up to my knee. Currently, I’m reasonably sure they are the most intelligent, talented, and handsome boys in Western Washington and perhaps even among those matriculating at Hogwarts.

But here’s my big surprise for you. There’s going to be another cousin waiting to greet you when you arrive around July 15th! Like you, he doesn’t have a name yet, but his big brother Wesley will no doubt assign him one soon. He should make his grand entrance around May 10th so he’ll only be 2 months older than you. I know you’ll have a grand time playing and pummeling each other into submission, and I’m sure you’re going to be good chums for life.

You and your three cousins will all be boys. I apologize for that. I tried to convince your parents, as well as your aunts and uncles, to really try harder but they have so far failed to produce a female great-grandchild. Having seen you in action on the ultrasound, however, I now feel that you will be providing a more than acceptable alternative. Try to think about it this way. Yes, girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice, and boys are made of snips and snails and puppy dogs’ tails, but boys get all the best CEO jobs. At least there’s that!

The real reason I’m writing you, though, is to quell the fear you probably have to being born the son of a bear. Rest assured, child. Your daddy is not a real bear. Not the kind that will be eating you for lunch. No indeed, my boy. We just call him Bear because his name is Barrett. You’ll be meeting him soon. He’s really quite nice. I haven’t heard him growl even once. I feel that he is quite acceptable – as long he refrains from having a room in his house called a den, and doesn’t name you “Teddy”.

Take my advice. I recommend that you be kind to your parents. There is no user guide for parenting, so you will need to offer them some technical assistance from time to time. That’s when you can turn on the charm with the coos and gurgles and burps and smiles! It will really help you worm your way into their affection, and it will certainly ease the pain of the economic suffering and lack of sleep you will be inflicting on them.

Get yourself ready to take on the world with your immediate big job of eating, sleeping and pooping. I know you’ll be good at it, and you’ll have plenty of help. Once in a while, though, before you wake up your mama or the Papa Bear, try giving your troubles to God because He’s up all night anyway, and so am I. You can always count on me, kiddo – your great-grandmother The Owl. Call me. I’ll have my people get back to your people.

Just kidding. Truth is, long ago, even before the Age of Disposable Diapers, I was a mama to several small baby persons such as yourself. I was derelict in my performance in every way except one: I liked the Night Feedings. A lot. This is when an Owl can really shine.

Try to picture it so you can let your people know how to do it. House very quiet! Parked in a comfy chair, feet up. Pall Mall cigarette (menthol because I was very health conscious) lit in ashtray on end table right next to the cup of heated up stale coffee and the bottle of warm baby formula.

And then, snug on my lap – the grand prize – my wee, freshly-diapered treasure, glad to be alive (and no doubt hoping to avoid nicotine poisoning, or hearing loss attributable to my singing voice). Well, let me tell you, baby, as an Owl, that was the best part of my day. It was Prime Time.

Keep it in mind, in case it runs in the family. The following will demonstrate your future effect on the household you’ll be taking over. I’m pretty sure its author was an Owl.