Whoopi Goldberg became a grandmother at 34 and is now a great-grandmother. Anna Wintour, editor-in-chief of “Vogue” magazine, has three grandchildren. Meryl Streep became a grandmother in 2019 (Insider). And, yes, now I am one too. What an extraordinary club! But what to be called? Vanity suggests something cute and sassy like Mimi or Yaya or Gigi, but Grandma, oh that has so many connotations that might suggest baking or needlepoint, or at least level-headedness, right? Might I still be in a nightclub at midnight or be dashing around the south of France or even, dare I say, unsure about my future with a moniker like Nana? Didn’t we all think those matriarchs, a bit round in the middle, coiffed grey hair into a bun, always in an apron, knew their way around a kitchen, and knew for certain what their tomorrow would bring? Seriously, those names and every association with them is weighty. How can I step into those shoes and feel they fit while there is so much I am still learning about life? Grandmother? Feels tight.
This little guy just arrived this week and suddenly I am at a loss as to my title, well no, not the title, I am so proud to be a Grand Mother, but the name. I do wish he would utter something as adorable as he is, and that would be that. Like Bunny or Giggy or Zaza or Honey. I’d take it. Sadly, he will not get around to naming me for a while, like years from now, so what to do in the meantime? Naming myself is daunting. What to be called by a little one before he can even keep his eyes focused on his own momma or daddy?
I have a feeling this little guy will come up with something just fine. Until then, I’m pretty grateful he’s here, with much hope and promise rising up with his every breath. And for now, I guess I will wear the title with all the pride granted those Grand folks.