“Pish Posh Baby,” it said across the top. There were pictures of baby bassinets. All shapes and sizes, wood, plastic, cloth.

Bassinet… for a baby. They were having a baby.

Omigosh, there would be a real baby. He was going to be a father. A real father to a real baby that would be going in a real bassinet.

He couldn’t have a baby! He was a baby.

He sat down on the couch heavily. He was a baby… but he couldn’t be. He needed to grow up. Like, yesterday. Yeah, this wasn’t exactly news to him, but he’d never truly comprehended before. It’d all been so abstract: future baby, future Yonah. But future baby was on his way, and he would be in a future bassinet in just a few short months….

Yonah suddenly pictured the old bassinet in the house in Boston, with the yellow Snoopy hood and the squeaky wheels. It had been his as a baby, and then the grandchildren staying over had slept deeply in it. How had his parents been such, well, parents? They were always there, always comforting and steady and just… so adult.

He couldn’t be them! He could barely be him.

Oh, man. He cradled his head in his hands.

He had a lot of work to do. But for maybe the first time ever, he had both eyes wide open.

Estee peered at the doctor, who had been suspiciously silent as the baby’s heartbeat filled the room.

“Dr. Farber?”

The doctor looked at Estee. “Hmmm. Heartbeat’s a bit slow… let’s go next door for monitoring, yes?”

Estee’s stomach swooped and dropped.

“Slow?” she repeated dully.

The doctor smiled at her kindly. “Come, it’s probably perfectly fine, just worth making sure. Courtney, can you accompany Mrs. Rosen to monitoring?”

Estee grabbed Courtney’s hand, perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

Slow… which was strange, since Estee’s heart seemed to beating a mile a minute.

Soon she was seated, uncomfortable belt strapped on. She fumbled with her phone.

“Ma,” she hissed.

“Est? Hi, sweetie, what’s doing?” Her mother sounded far away. “Did I tell you we’re meeting with the florist today? She’s so fabulous, we loved the arrangements at your wedding. Although your bouquet had looked a little peaky, we’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen again. How’s it going?”

“Ma!” Estee whispered. “Ma, listen, I went for my appointment, and the doctor said the heartbeat’s a little slow, and I’m being monitored for a while. I’m scared, can you come?”

Silence. Then, “Oh, sweetie, I wish I could, but Lakie is just walking in now with the options. Give Yonah a call, okay, and then let me know what’s happening. Love you, hang in there.”

She hung up. Estee stared at the phone. Her mother had hung up on her.

And she was alone, in the monitoring room, with just the sound of her baby’s heartbeat to keep her company.

Should she call Yonah? He was at seder, and she was really fine.

She’d wait. Wait and wonder why her mother suddenly seemed to have forgotten that she had other daughters in addition to the kallah.

Golda wrinkled her nose at the flier.

Pottery at Penina’s Studio!

Come join our over-55 group for tea and pottery making.

She was over 55. She liked tea.

Did she like pottery-making? She wasn’t sure. It looked interesting, but messy. Probably very messy.

She stayed in the car after pulling up. Dare she go in? “Are you better off staying at home, counting the kitchen tiles in the backsplash again?” she snapped at herself.

“Fine,” she muttered in return. “I’ll go in. But if it’s boring, I’m out of there.”

Penina’s studio was bright and cheerful. Kind of like Penina herself, a woman wearing a colorful headscarf and a beaded necklace.

“Welcome, welcome!” Penina crowed. “You’re new! Come say hi to everyone.”

Golda was struck by such a sudden bout of shyness — why did this remind her of ninth grade?

“Toby, Faigy, Michal, Rivka, Sheva,” Penina said, as she gestured to each of the women seated in a semicircle around the table.

Golda smiled tentatively.

“Welcome! There’s a seat right here!” a large redhead shouted, and Golda felt a smile creep across her face.

She could do this. No matter how wet or messy it might be.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1045)