Today is my grandson’s birthday. I don’t know his name yet. I haven’t even seen his picture. I haven’t heard him wail aloud. I haven’t a clue how much he weighs. But I know today is the day because my daughter-in-law’s OB-GYN doctor moved up the schedule so that the gestation length would be exactly 36 weeks. There were some complications over the last three weeks that caused worry and shudders, but as of this writing all is good; all is go. Mother and baby are doing fine. How appropriate that my first grandson would be born on a Friday when I am writing a Burrito. That kid has got good timing.
Speaking of Kid Stuff
I read that morning cereal consumption in the U.S. has been on the downside, declining by a percentage point per year except during the pandemic era. Then, more people stayed at home and it boosted demand … especially by adults who tapped their
childhood obsessions for a sugar rush. I grew up on breakfast cereal. The cartons in which the product came to our table, awaiting a splash of whole milk in my bowl provided must viewing and a source of daydreams.
