Sad Day for Bomma

Before I became a grandmother, I heard from enough friends and family about the authentic joys of grandparenting to look forward to it as a pleasant experience. And when one friend asked me what I would want my grandchildren to call me, I thought, " a simple, unembellished 'Grandma' will do - no silly 'mimi' or 'mawmaw' for me.

But for quite a few months now, I have been "Bomma" to the blonde tyke on my lap, and never has there been a more glorious name to my ears. Nothing matches the joy of getting out of my car in his driveway as he dashes out of the porch to greet me, wearing nothing but a HUGE smile, shouting, "BOMMA! You are here!"

Yesterday my daughter-in-love asked me if I noticed that he had started to correct his pronounciation of grandma. Yes, I had, in fact. The day before Isaac had called me "Brama" once when asking me for something. And though I am thrilled that his brain/ear/mouth connection is healthy and his speech/language development keeps racing along, it was still a sad day for Bomma.

Probably "Bompa, play your bombone!" has fallen by the wayside, as well. A sad day, indeed.