This Pending Arrival Has Grandpa on Edge

Christmas isn’t until Saturday, but the daughter who is married to the Grocery Store Bagger stopped by the house earlier in the week and asked the wife to open a gift.

It was a little odd, but then the daughter married the guy she met in frozen foods, so she’s a little odd.

The wife tore open the package, thinking it might be food, but found a bib. If you’ve seen the wife eat, it was the perfect gift.

I noticed, though, that the wife was crying. I thought she’d like the idea of walking around without stains on the front of her shirt for a change.

She hugged the daughter, shouted for joy and handed me the note attached to the bib: “Will you please make my Halloween costumes, help me with school projects and be my Grandma? I’ll be here in July.”

I wasn’t surprised to learn the daughter who never cleaned her room wanted her mom to continue doing everything for her, but referring to her as “Grandma,” I thought I better put a stop to the name calling before it went too far.

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EVERYONE ELSE in the family, of course, was excited the Bagger finally did his duty. For the last 10 or 11 months, or so, he has been a big disappointment. I don’t think the big grin he was wearing was necessary, but that’s just Dad talking.

Miss Radio Personality embraced the big news the way a loving aunt should, and told her pregnant sister she’ll be growing a big butt, which gave me an idea.

I stopped by “Torrid Plus Sizes” at the Brea Mall and asked the saleswoman for the biggest pair of panties they sold so the daughter who is pregnant will be comfortable. “That’s something my dad would do too,” the clerk said, and I would think most dads would be thoughtful like that if given the chance.

Grandma, though, seems to be losing it. She suggested taking the daughter’s wedding dress to the cleaners, and having them box and preserve it, as if the daughter is going to wear it, or get married, again. Not with that big butt.

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THE DAUGHTER went to the doctor, and after conducting tests the doctor told her the little Bagger was doing somersaults in her tummy. How much more can one man take? First his daughter marries a Bagger and then they produce a gymnast.

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GRANDMA IS already coming up with names for the little Bagger, which is somewhat of a concern. She has named the family dogs over the years: No Bargain, Oinker, Gravel, Shammer and Blah.

She called the daughter who is pregnant now Oogie Boogie.

(I’m known as Stud, of course, so sometimes she gets it right.)

The Bagger wants to call the kid Kaiser if it’s a boy ... as if he has any say in this. The daughter is leaning toward Jordan Thomas, and I think J.T. has a very nice ring to it. They’ve got some girls’ names too, but they won’t need them.

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IT HAS been a while since there was a good reason to listen to anything Sports Editor Bill Dwyre has to say. OK, to be honest, when he yells, “Fore,” I pay attention, but beyond that, he’s from Wisconsin, went to Notre Dame and likes tennis, so even making small talk with him can be grueling.

But I owe the guy a lot now, because for the last 27 months he has been living day and night with a grandma, and although that might explain why he plays so much golf, he knows what it’s like to be in public, as he puts it, with a grandma in tow.

I asked whether it felt awkward walking through a mall holding the hand of a grandma, and Dwyre said, “I wouldn’t know.”

I asked him whether life had changed since his wife became a grandma, and he said, “For 37 years I didn’t hold her hand walking through the mall. It might’ve happened once during the honeymoon, but I can’t remember that far back.”

(I don’t know what that has to do with this story, but I thought Grandma Dwyre ought to hear it.)

“It’s all about the grandchild; I know I have a lot more time for myself now that she’s distracted,” Dwyre said, and he made it clear he wasn’t complaining.

I know Grandma Dwyre pretty well, and after she reads Page 2, I’m pretty sure Dwyre will have a lot more time to be all by himself.

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GRANDMA SIMERS wants to start buying the little Bagger clothes, I presume to beat the in-laws, and yet the kid won’t be born until July 4, which is about the same time the Dodgers will be eliminated from playoff contention.

I think about little J.T. growing up and listening to Charley Steiner broadcast the Dodger games, and it’s a wonder why anyone wants to bring a baby into this world.

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I’M STRUGGLING, of course, with this change of life.

I’m not saying I’m opposed to sleeping with a grandmother, I just never gave it any thought.

The wife likes being called Grandma, but I recall the good times when we were all young, the daughter wasn’t married and she was satisfied to have her (stinky) blankie and feed mud to her Baby Beth doll. Now she’s got a little beer belly.

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TODAY’S LAST word comes in a note attached to J.T.’s bib:

“Will you please teach me how to shoot three-pointers like my mommy? I’ll be here in July.”

I already figured I was going to do that, and knowing your mom the way I do, I knew she wasn’t going to ask me to teach you how to play defense.

So beyond that, I guess I’ll just have to wait for your arrival, and the chance to introduce myself as the man who is married to Grandma.

If you insist on calling me your grandfather, I guess that’ll be OK too.

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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.