Moving In

Recently I decided to move in to help care for my grandmother.

She is 90 and almost 91. I am 32. I am the one of my cousins and assorted family members who is pretty much footloose and fancy free. Yeah, I owned my own house, and I lived the good life all alone....but I'm a spendthrift and I was house poor and wanted to travel. I also had a grandmother who needed more care than she was getting, so in I moved. I rented out my cute little house, got rid of half of my stuff, and "viola" life changed. In a big way.

I had no idea what I was getting into.

Life with Lucy is amusing to say the least. First off, lets talk about GrannyPie as I call her....she's a feisty old bat. She is shrinking....she used to be a robust woman of about 5'6. Now....she's a petite 5'2 if that, and about 120 pounds. Altho under my watch she's gaining weight...which is no shock since she wasn't eating well....however It's not my fault. My mother realizes that her mother is becoming a child again....with a particular affection for pineapple pie and gross brightly colored sodas that my normally health conscious mother provides for her. Right now Strawberry Crush is her current favorite (insert gagging noises here). For whatever reason I can't stomach BRIGHT PINK soda. However, Granny Pie is currently drinking about 2 liters every 3 days. Sometimes right out of the bottle. However, normally it's milk that she consumes right out of the jug....as if she were a 16 year old boy just home from football practice.

Speaking of football....it's like football practice every single morning. She comes out of her room dressed and I pat her ass to make sure the disposable drawers that she's supposed to be wearing are on. When she gives me the death look (it's lost it's power as I've gotten older) and asks why I'm patting her ass I tell her I'm checkin for the pants. Sometimes I check to see if they're full....pretty soon it's going to be like the baby where you pull the back of the diaper out to see if there is anything in it....altho I am trying to protect a shred of her dignity. If I notice that she's bare assed (oh yes, this happens OFTEN) I just hand her the disposable. The dementia kicks in, she doesn't remember WHY she has it, but knows what to do with it....I learned this after MANY a mexican standoff in the bathroom with her screaming at me "THIS IS MY HOUSE" and me yelling back "I DON"T GIVE A SHIT, PUT THE PANTS ON". It wasn't working. I had to switch methods....when one doesn't work, try another. The upside? She forgets our fights in about 4.5 seconds. So....she doesn't often stay mad at me long.

I'm fat. It bothers her. She brings it up just about every meal we have....and since it's my job to feed her, that is a lot of meals. So every time she brings up me being fat, she ends it with "you need to lose weight." Then about 10 seconds later "Aren't you going to eat?" This is a constant. I have learned over the years to ignore her (she hates my big butt the most, and every now and again will comment on my ass. This is usually while I'm bent over picking something up off the floor).