When I first learned I was going to become a grandma, I panicked. I told myself, "I'm not old enough to be called that." I was. I had already passed into my 60s.
Much of my discomfort was with the aura around the name Grandma. This was also true for the person who was about to be called Grandpa. That's why we designed our own names, and we—and our grandkids—have lived happily with them. (I'm PenPen; he was BaPa.)
Recently I came across a piece by Linda Wolff that had fun with the names we grandmas choose to be called by our grandkids. Here's a taste of what she had to say (and a link to the rest of it):
Mimi: The name originates in the south though it oozes with French flare. Closest to mommy and might be confusing , but that's what therapy is for. Essentially Meemaw, but with more “Je ne sais quoi.” Mimis will have everyone (the kids, the dog, the neighborhood stray cat) eating out of your manicured hands. Shopkeepers will keep you on speed dial when your little Ella’s mini G-wagon rolls in.
Gigi: You’re not a regular grandma, you’re a cool grandma. You prefer Peach Bellinis to Kale Smoothies and relish the fact you allow the kidlets to nom nom chicken nuggets in your bed. You can be found prancing around town behind one of those new-fangled strollers. You dispense all your Gigi wisdom to future grandmas during mahjong and are famous for developing a Genovian accent every time you return from summers in Positano. You never turn on the white noise machine for the kidlets when you babysit. Who needs it when you’ve got the dulcet tones of Fluffy, your snoring Goldendoodle?
Yaya: Like a warm summer breeze, you’re probably sunning in Mykonos instead of watching your baby’s babies. That’s ok, this will remind them to accept your offer to vacation together the next time you offer them a plane ticket. First class only, of course.
Lili, Lala, Cookie, Babka: You’re wise beyond your years and have come to the conclusion that the baby will call you whatever it damn well pleases based on whatever they can pronounce. So you just keep bringing tins of cookies and whisper “I’m your favorite” as you rock little Ceecee into sweet slumber.
painting: Frida Kahlo