Outside The Locked Door seems like a strange title, but, it describes perfectly the events and happenings up to and during the birth of our first-ever grandchild.  The absolutely perfect, very much loved and highly anticipated BabyGirl.

My husband, R, and I were told we were going to be grandparents on January 10, 2015.  We were so thrilled and excited and couldn't wait to spread the news to the rest of our family and close friends.  We had to reign in our enthusiasm, though, because our son, A and his wife, K, didn't want to tell anyone about the pregnancy until all the prenatal tests came back okay.

Now, that was definitely their perogative and it was their truth to tell.  But, think about being a Future Grandparent (especially in a family that puts children above and before anything else), and you've just been told:

1)  You have to sit on this most incredible, life altering, life affirming news for who knows how long, until we tell you different;  and

2)  You've just been told in a round about way that, if  your future grandchild, who you already love and adore, doesn't pass the prenatal tests, her life will be terminated.

Just let that sink in for a moment....

Thankfully, BabyGirl, in true BabyGirl fashion, as you will soon see, passed all the obstacles placed in her path and sailed through those tests with a perfect score!  Thank you Jesus (yes, there was a whole lot of praying going on at our house).  Due to several errors and snafus obtaining the test results, we still had to wait until around mid-March before we could share our joy with others.  That's two and a half months of knowing and not being able to tell.  Kinda takes the bloom off the rose, ya know?

The following months passed fairly quickly and A and K began making all the decisions every soon to be parent must make.  It was at brunch one Sunday when I was told that one of those decisions meant that I wouldn't be allowed in the labor room during K's labor.  That was a little hurtful, but not surprising.  My mother was with me both times my boys were delivered and I thought it was only right that K's mother would be there with her, as well.....except she wouldn't.  We were told that this particular hospital only allowed the Birth Father and One Other Person to be present during Labor and Delivery and that One Other Person would be a Doula....or in this case, not an "actual" doula, but some one who was training to be a doula.  Sort of like having a 3rd year medical student do your gallbladder surgery.  Uh huh, exactly.

Don't get me wrong..I know the birthing industry has changed a lot since my sons were born, and even more so since I, myself, was born.  I know more power and authority are being given to expectant parents today to decide just how and where they want their child to make an entrance.  I applaud that..information and education are two of our biggest allies in this world, especially when dealing with the medical community.

I have friends whose grandchildren were born, successfully, in birthing centers, rather than hospitals. Attended to by trained certified doulas - both with medical doctors in attendance and without.  The difference is the amount of training it takes to become certified is important.  You don't become certified until you fulfill the requirements.  There's a reason for that, and a first time birth may NOT be the right time for an unsupervised trainee, in my opinion.

It was scary, but it was A & K's decision to make and R and I had to accept it and hope and pray for the best.

The months went by and the August 3rd due date crept closer and closer, and then just went right on by.  BabyGirl was taking after her daddy and arbitrary due dates held no meaning for her.

At the Friday, August 7th appointment, K's OBGYN recommended inducing labor on the following Tuesday, August 11th, if BabyGirl still hadn't made her appearance.

As luck, and BabyGirl, would have it, we got THE CALL from A on Monday, saying K was in labor and BabyGirl was on her way!  YAY!

We were told they were waiting at home as long as they could, and they'd keep us posted.  Again, YAY!  A call came from A a few hours later and they were headed to the hospital.

R and I grabbed our stuff and off we went....driving straight to the hospital and straight to Labor and Delivery and our soon to be beloved grandchild....except they weren't IN Labor & Delivery.

We get to the hospital and ask what floor we need, jump in the elevator and run out, looking for a familiar face...A, or K's Mother, perhaps?  We find an empty waiting room and a locked door with instructions to "buzz for assistance".  I buzzed, and waited.....buzzed and waited....buzzed and waited - nothing.  The doors were locked (a common theme at this hospital EXCEPT on the floors reserved for Isolation patients, which my family has learned the hard way, sad to say.)

By this time, I haven't heard any word from A or K, and I'm a Nana on a mission.  I wait until someone comes OUT of the doors, and before they close, I holler at R and he and I run through.  I beeline to the nurses station and ask about a mom in labor, K P?  Only to be told, she hadn't been admitted through L&D ...she was down in the Emergency Room.  EMERGENCY ROOM???

Okay, regroup....R and I run down to the Emergency Room, and ANOTHER locked door.  I grab either an intern or a resident or a really, really young looking doctor, plead my case and he leads us back through the locked doors to the room where my son, my daughter-in-law, her mother and the Doula trainee are sitting....waiting to see what the doctor says.

Well, no available space in THAT particular room and we're very conscious of being somewhere we shouldn't.  So, after asking A to keep us updated, R and I turn around and go to the ER waiting room.  Where we sit and wait, and wait, and wait....Finally, I text A and discover they are actually going to admit K and they'll be moved to Labor & Delivery!  YAY!!  Progress!!

R and I run back over to L&D, and sit in the waiting room, and wait, and wait, and wait.  Again, I finally text A and ask for updates and he tells me they're just getting her settled in and it's liable to be a long wait.

Rather than take up space in the waiting room...which was crowded and getting more crowded every minute, we decide to go home and wait from there.  We ask A to please, please keep us posted (are you sensing a theme, here?)

We go home and have a sleepless night, waiting for the phone to ring or the text alert to sound.  We heard neither.  In the morning I text A and ask for an update.  He tells me K's labor stalled overnight and they're waiting for the doctor.

Okay, keep us posted, please?

We hear nothing for hours, finally I break down and text A to find out that K's in active labor, but it's going really slowly.

Knowing how labor can often be a matter of hurry up and wait, and, frankly, being tired of begging for updates, I ask A to please let us know when K starts to push.

At long last, we get the call....K has started to push!  We rush to the hospital and run to the L&D waiting room where we meet my sister, M, and K's mother, D,( K had previously asked D to leave the room), so she was in the waiting room with us....waiting, waiting, waiting.  I text A and let him know we're there, and, you guessed it,  we wait, we wait, we wait.

Occasionally we ask at the tiny window if there are any updates, but we're quickly informed that they can't give out any information whatsoever.  The doors to the answers are locked.

Okay....finally, three hours later, I can't stand it and text A again, begging for info.  He replies that BabyGirl has just emerged!  She's HERE!!

Several minutes later the doula trainee comes through the door and tells us K delivered "like a boss" and she shows us the first ever pictures of our first ever grandchild.  She's gorgeous beyond words and R and I know we'll never be the same again.

We wait patiently to be allowed back to see the new little family....and we wait, and we wait, and we wait.  An aide or nurse's asst. walks by and tells us how beautiful the baby is.

And still we wait, and we wait, and we wait.  Finally, I get up and ask at the tiny window for some information and the nurse looks surprised and tells me that we could have gone back to see them an hour ago.  She takes pity on us and says she'll check and make sure it's okay.

Finally, THREE HOURS after she was born, R and I get shown to the room where we see a very proud A, a very tired and hungry K and the most beautiful, precious thing we've ever seen.
We coo over her and R and I take turns holding her.  There has never been anything like this in my entire life.  I'm speechless.

We just stay for a small amount of time (a nanosecond, if you ask my daughter-in-law), because we know they'd like to rest and bask in their new little family.  And since we weren't invited to visit in the first place, but had to push our way in, we feel we're intruding.

Her name is as original and beautiful as she is.   We learned her name when, before we were allowed back, K posted a birth announcement on facebook.  Yes, that's right....we found out our granddaughter's name via social media.  That seems kind of wrong, doesn't it?  Especially since we were right down the hall, OUTSIDE THE LOCKED DOOR.

I certainly hope not, but, even if you aren't right now, there's an excellent chance you will be in the future.

With the gigantic strides medical technology has made recently, the life span of the average human has increased dramatically. Joint replacement surgery is on the rise among Baby Boomers, and it's very common for someone to have not one or two, but even three or more "bionic" parts, allowing them the freedom to live a more active physical life, free of pain and discomfort, well into their Golden Years.

If only that were true for their minds as well. Sadly, the hard fact is that living longer greatly increases your chances of getting a form of dementia. It's not a matter of if you'll get it, it's only a matter of when and what type.

That being said, doesn't it make sense that we make finding a cure for dementia related diseases a high priority? Of course it does.

We are not a passive generation. We pride ourselves on our initiative and the fact that we are pro-active rather than reactive. Let's channel that drive and determination towards finding successful treatments that will lead, ultimately, to a cure.

Research is ongoing and great strides have been made. Experts tell us the breakthrough is just beyond the horizon, well within our grasp. We'd be out of our minds to slow down now. But, research takes funding, and here's where WE can do our part and be PRO-ACTIVE while we can still make a smart, informed decision.

All over the country, chapters of the Alzheimer's Association are gearing up for one of their biggest research fund raising events - the Walk To End Alzheimer's Disease.

I encourage, urge and BEG you to make the smart decision and pledge your money for a cause that will affect each and every one of you who is reading this.

Contact your local Alzheimer's Association or go to www.alz.org and make your donation today. I'll be making my dollars count at: http://walktoendalz.kintera.org/brazos/jproza

After all, it's just the smart thing to do.

I've always hated our backyard. Oh, it's a perfectly nice backyard, but the problem is it's owned by two people who have no idea how to landscape. Basically, our idea of landscaping is to buy whatever looks good, bring it home, slap it in the ground and either totally ignore it or smother it to death. Surprisingly enough, the ones we ignore tend to do a whole lot better than the ones we try and nurture. I'm sure that says something about our parenting skills, but I don't want to think about it too much.

Once upon a time, when the boys were small, we had an above ground pool. It was great and the boys loved it. They'd swim with their friends every day, having lots of swimming type fun. Even Roger liked it, and he's one of those annoying types who doesn't like to swim (you know the type I'm talking about).

Me? I hated it...to me it looked like a gigantic cattle tank, sitting in our backyard...sorta like the water tower on Petticoat Junction, only uglier, because we didn't know how to camoflauge it. It was just a big, old, ugly bowl of water.

Okay, fine, in typical Proza fashion, we decided to throw good money after bad and we got an in-ground pool installed. A real, honest to goodness swimming pool, with plaster, deck coping, tiles and everything else that comes with it...including the huge price tag.

No problem - it was an investment, right? We're investing in years of family fun and sun here! Who needs a vacation? We'd vacation right here in our own back yard and enjoy our new beautiful pool and all of the wonderful closeness and family memories we'd have as a result of all of that terrific splashingingly good fun! Right?

Well, maybe, except that Alex and Joseph picked that exact time to STOP SWIMMING COMPLETELY! Really? When does that happen? Let me tell you, when I grew up, there was nothing else to do BUT swim. If you had a pool, you were instantly the most popular, fun person to be around with an unlimited number of new best friends. At least during the hot, summer months; and if your pool was heated? SCORE! Lifetime Popularity, I guarantee it. Sure, we were shallow, but we were also HOT and BORED. Don't judge!

So, it only made sense to spend EVEN MORE money on the backyard, right? Are you sensing the pattern here? Good, maybe you could tell us, because, apparently we're not real bright.

We decided to have a pergola built in the backyard. We had a spot that was too shady to grow any grass and we were tired of lugging our chairs across the yard to sit under the trees.

Of course, we got our across the street neighbor to build it for us. He comes from a talented family of builders. You know the kind of people who watch the DIY channels and point out all of the mistakes. People who know it's not a good idea to clean paintbrushes in the bathtub (I'm looking at YOU here, Roger).

The problem with having someone like that building something for you is the snowball potential involved. One little innocent comment, one little "You know what would look good in that corner? A fish pond". Just one slip of the tongue and BAM, you're at the pond store paying way too much money for stuff you used to catch in the creek with a coffee can.

And ROCKS? Good Lord, I never thought I'd actually pay money for ROCKS. Seriously, I didn't think you could even BUY rocks. Don't you just dig them up out of the ground?

Let me tell you, I'd like to meet the genius who thought that one up. You know his parents are relieved, since they probably thought all of that sitting around digging in the yard with a stick was never gonna pay off. Ha! Jokes on them!

The good news is, we have a beautiful backyard. Complete with a stunning pergola, which is wired for electricity, with a ceiling fan and a stereo system. There's a gorgeous waterfall that tumbles water musically down into a charming fish pond, filled with fish and tadpoles. Frogs have found out little haven and have made it their own with nightly serenades and, judging from the number of tadpoles, more than one successful romance.

You see the obvious, right? The reason why the yard is now a beautiful oasis, instead of a desolate, barren wasteland?

You got it - we didn't do any of the work OURSELVES. We hired someone else to do it. And there ends this lesson, grasshopper.

It's the summer of 1964 and a little girl is playing. She's jumping from the framing boards of a garage down onto a ground covered with sawdust and wood shavings. That summer I turned 4, you were built and our life together began; a life that lasted 47 years.

We shared secrets, you and I.

I know the tar smudge on that certain brick of the fireplace and the fine, hairline crack of the one on the mantle; and the tricky two-step it takes to push open the screen door and make it down the back steps before the door swings back to deliver a smack. The front door lock doesn't give up without a fight and it takes a firm hand to convince it to cooperate. The back door is much nicer, but has a certain way of closing that has to be done in two stages. Not stubborn, exactly, just lazy.

You kept my secrets, too. My name, spelled out in stickers down the inside of my bedroom door, and the hole I put in the wall by kicking off my shoe a little too hard. Remember the persimmon tree my friends and I jumped over and permanently bent? And the fact that I learned to climb using the columns in the living room and found my mom's candy stash by climbing the shelves in the kitchen pantry?

We grew up together, you and I. When we were young, I played hide and seek in your gardens, running up and down the rows of corn. I climbed onto the roof of your greenhouse to reach the best plums and I knew the turns of your garden paths so well I could run full speed and never step off into the dirt.

You were my first love, my childhood home for 25 years and, even when I left, you stayed the same. Always waiting for me to return for a visit...to come home.

We have staked our claims on each other, you and I. My initials are in your sidewalks and every year iris, daffodils and spider lilies from your gardens bloom in my backyard.

I can't remember a time when you weren't a part of my life, and even though someone else owns you now, in my heart you will always belong to me. My special place, my shelter, my secret garden, my first true love, my childhood home.

Recently, Roger and I succumbed to peer pressure and decided to try sushi (or as I previously and shall forever after refer to it - BAIT).

I have always been suspicious about the whole "raw fish" trend. I've accidentally eaten raw seafood before and that experience left me thinking it was definitely not something I wanted to do again. Turns out, I was right.

My oldest son, Alex, has always been a big sushi fan. But, you really can't depend on Alex's recommendations when it comes to food. One of Alex's favorite past-times is to wander into a hole-in-the wall where he's the only person who speaks English. He'll proceed to peruse a menu that he can't understand and make a selection by pointing to something that looks interesting. Then, in a surprising show of faith and courage, when the mystery food is served, HE ACTUALLY EATS IT.

See, I blame his dad. Roger has always been an adventurous eater. You know the type, someone who will actually eat things from the Roach Coach. A person who sees nothing wrong with eating a sandwich from a gas station. That's not to say Roger doesn't have his limits. For some reason he draws the line at anything white. Yep a tamale out of the trunk of someone's car? You betcha! Just keep your mayo, cream cheese and sour cream to yourself.

Like I said, Alex was always a big sushi fan, and we never pay attention to Alex's food recommendations. But, then we got some surprising news from our youngest son, Joseph, (who is a really picky eater) and his girlfriend Audrey, (who manages to live on a diet consisting of all things potato). Both of them jumped in the sushi fish tank and LOVED it!

Okay, that's it! Roger and I were tired of being the old fogey, sticks in the mud. Let me just step in here and say that maybe the REASON old fogeys live long enough to actually become old fogeys is that they know better than to eat things that are routinely put out on a trot line. I'm just sayin'.

We went to a sushi restaurant Alex recommended (mistake number 1) and ordered the items that Alex suggested (mistake number 2).

We were nervous, sure, but it all started out pretty well. The edamame was a little salty, but you could brush the excess salt off, right? Miso soup came next and I tried really hard to distract Roger from the little cubes of tofu floating around on the top...SUCCESS! We both ate the soup and it wasn't too bad.

On to the entrees! We had ordered the California Roll and the Alexander Roll. Both came beautifully plated and we eagerly (I was eager, Roger was scared), took a bite.

The minute I got that first bite of California roll in my mouth I knew we were in trouble. From what I've been told, the California roll is actually COOKED. It has no raw fish in it. So, maybe someone can explain to me why my California roll tasted like I'd just reached into the koi pond and popped Goldie into my mouth.

I looked at the expression on Roger's face and at the pain in his eyes and I knew drastic measures were called for.

I hopped up and went looking for our waiter. I told him we'd had an emergency phone call, and had to leave and we needed two to-go boxes. (What, we'd spent $30.00 on this stuff, you think I'm leaving without it?)

We packed up, swung by Alex's house to drop off the "offal", and high-tailed it to our favorite rib joint, where food servings are huge and fixed the way God and Nature intended - cooked over an open flame and served with two of your favorite side dishes.

Oh, and just so you know, I asked Alex the next day how he liked his surprise sushi meal. Turns out he only got a couple of bites. He claims while he was eating it straight from the to go box, the box flipped over and all of the sushi fell onto the floor.

Uh huh...I think it says a lot that even his DOGS didn't try to snatch it up.