And not a very good one at that.
I hear reassuring cries of, “She likes you, Grandma!”
“She wants you, Grandma!”
I’m 39 and I can’t say the word ‘Grandma’ sits comfortably with me.
OK. It does seem as if she likes me. When I hold her, she does tend to turn her head and her loud cries do change to laughter.
At least, I think it’s laughter.
It could of course be that she recalls that time I picked her up in the supermarket. Having been abandoned by my daughter on the well-walked floor. That she remembers I hauled her through the aisles while simultaneously pushing a trolley.
It could be she notices that Grandpa is too rough with her. Uncle doesn’t care. And her mother, has, at times, had quite enough.
Until she burps, that is.
Those burps can still bring on a full blown belly laugh from her mummy.
As can Aunty shaking her.
I must admit, I am really quite intrigued by my daughter’s attitude toward her new born child.
For example, she keeps ‘re-birthing’ her.
Stuffing Baby Annabel up her, by now, well stretched pullover and then ‘pushing’ her out. (To be honest, it’s not much of a push. She does more work going for a pooh. It’s more like a drop – oh, look – she fell out. Not very realistic, if you ask me.)
Then there’s the feeding. At times, she’s ramming the plastic water filled bottle almost down the throat of the poor child. Then, the next minute she’s going for a fully clothed version of ‘breast is best’. It doesn’t come as a surprise to me that my granddaughter cries ‘real tears’. No doubt she’s starving.
And I’m sure it’ll all only get worse when the anticipated baby brother comes along. My daughter has creatively decided him to call him ‘Baby Born’.
Still, at least that’s an improvement on what she plans to call an actual child: Winnetou. I should have known letting a five-year old watch old German Cowboy and Indian movies would render her ‘extraordinary’.