It is entirely within the realm of possibility that a person would, at 53, have a 3 year old grandchild.
However, it was much funnier when my 3 year old godson referred to my friend Marilyn (five years older than me) as Grandma, than it was when he turned around five minutes later, after I’d stopped laughing and called me Grandma as well.
I spent two days teaching him my name. We practiced. We even practiced M’s name. By the time I left, after spending two full days with him, playing cars, monsters, jumping jacks, going for car rides, to a wedding and a full blown temper tantrum, he got it. I was Joey, she was Maradin and for a brief and shining moment, really, I was ‘enry ‘iggins and he was Eliza Doolittle.
I spoke to his mom briefly today. “He loves his toys,” she said. “He held up the stuffed monster you got him and said ‘Granma gave this to me.'”
Yeah. It’s all good. Humbling. But it’s good. So for today, if only for him, I am OnlytheGranma.
