Grandmother is smoking

My mother is 49. This year she purchased 23 pyjamas. She's on a diet she doesn't really need. She quit smoking 15 years ago. She quit that now. She drinks too much beer to counteract the diet so she can keep on dieting. Today she became a grandmother. This shape-shifting is something not at all small and it takes a vast amount of learning to fill in the new shape you are given, alongside the shapes you already have. Grandmother is such a mighty word, and conjures such a hefty spell as going through the fire of baptism. You come out not the way you went in. Though you might think nothing has changed, everything has and it takes time to learn, and this new shape forces your being into fitting. A bone might break, some skin might shed, hair might turn white, some new knowledge might surface on your spine. Old memories from another life may knock on your door. Yet some time before any of that might happen, perhaps even, whilst it is all happening, you might just go outside in the cold with one layer too few, stretching your sleeves over your hands with two fingers sticking out holding a fag lifting your head blowing the smoke away from your new self, clouding the miracle of becoming wiser as you're becoming older shouting back at your son and storming off when he tells you his baby smells of cigarette.