And mother makes two, after much persuasion

I haven't been this nervous since I was expecting my first baby more than three decades ago. Back then, I remember changing my mind on the way to the delivery room.

"I don't know nothin' 'bout birthing babies," I wailed. I sure as heck didn't know anything about rearing them.

But then, somehow, everything worked out okay, and my boy turned out just fine. Hope it does this time, too.

See, I'm "expecting" again. Only this time, I'm expecting my mother. She'll arrive within the next couple of weeks. I'm nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. I don't know nothin' 'bout taking care of mamas.

Actually, I've been begging Mom to move to Florida for years, with more intensity after my father died in 1997. She's over there in Texas alone, 916 miles and 20 hours' worth of driving from me. I want her closer. We really like each other and like doing the same things.

If I had my druthers, she would move into my front bedroom. "You would have your own bathroom and be close to the kitchen for your morning coffee," I told her. "You could bring your cat, too. I'm sure your Tess and my Bustopher would get along fine. Just as we would."

Mom wouldn't hear of it. She's independent and likes her privacy. Just like me.

Finally, I went out scouting for a place for her to live on her own.

A house?

"If I wanted to be in a house, I'd stay here in Texas," she said.

A patio home? Same answer. A condo? Same answer.

I eventually got the hint that although she wanted her independence, she also wanted some freedom from household chores. So I went scouting for communal living places close to my house. When she came down after Christmas, I squired her through some of them.

She was lukewarm.

"The people just don't look like me," she said after we toured three places. It wasn't that most of them were Yankees; it was that most of them looked, well, tired or frail. Mom's 86, but she can outrun me in a foot race any day.

We finally went to a retirement place that's about 10 minutes from my house. Everyone has a private apartment, with full kitchen, but there are three meals a day downstairs. There's also a heated pool (that someone else has to clean), a fitness center (that someone else has to straighten up), a card room (gotta play that bridge) and flowers (that someone else weeds and feeds).

Best of all, "These people look like me," she concluded. Some were bicycling around the neighborhood and others were returning from shopping trips with shopping bags bulging. Everybody looked hale and hearty. That settled it.

She went home, put her beautiful house on the market, and got her asking price two days later. She gave away everything she owns ("don't want to bother with a garage sale") except furniture for one bedroom, one living room, plus one set of dishes and one set of pots and pans.

"I don't intend to cook," she said.

Within two weeks, she was ready to pull up stakes and move. Knowing her, she'll never look back.

Now I'm worried. Will Florida live up to my hype? What if a hurricane blows the roof of her apartment off and rain drenches her mahogany triple dresser? What if someone keys her car? Or grabs her handbag in the bookstore parking lot? What if she can't find bridge partners? Or her cat escapes and someone smushes it on U.S. 19? Or smushes her on U.S. 19? What if she can't find a doctor she trusts? Or if I write something in the paper that embarrasses her?

Yes, all that could happen in Texas, but that would be there, not where I convinced her she should be.

Maybe I say I'm worried about all that because I'm really worried about me. I've been by myself and on my own for 18 years, coming and going as I please, answering to no one and asking about no one. Am I ready for a "little intruder" and even a tiniest encroachment on my laissez faire life?

Probably no more ready than she was when I arrived on her scene those many, many years ago, or I was when my son arrived on my scene 25 years later.

But, then, somehow, everything worked out okay.

I feel pretty sure it will this time, too.

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