We are checking out at Target when an elderly woman with a heavy accent taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me? Excuse me?” she says loudly. I look around, down at the ground, to see what I’ve dropped or stepped on. “Your baby is so cute,” she says to me. I thank her.
To Ezra, she says, “I want to be your grandmother. Do you hear me?”
She squeezes his foot, smiles at me, and then says to him, forcefully, “I am your grandmother.”