Over a decade ago, when my daughter told us she and her husband were expecting their first child I moaned, "But I’m too young to be a grandma!” I was only forty six. Weren’t my own grandparents ancient all my life? I hated the thought of little people calling me—a still-vibrant lady—a name associated with fumbling, forgetfulness, and false teeth.
“That baby can call me Nana, Mimi, or Boo-Boo, but she’s not calling me Grandma!” I insisted. My resolve lasted an entire two days.
Once I warmed to the idea of having a wee one to cuddle and spoil, I decided that being a grandma wasn’t bad. I told everyone within a ten-mile radius that I was going to have a grandbaby.
Now we have three darling miniature people, and when they say, “Grandma” it’s like a favorite song being sung just for me. All the implications of that word have changed, now that I have the role of loving and mentoring these little angels.
Have you ever changed your mind about a word or a role? What changed it for you?