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?
