As the months passed, I remained unsure about this grandma thing, especially since this new little creative cried every time she was in my arms. Maybe it was my all-white hair, maybe it was my voice, or maybe it was just because she wanted her mom. (If the truth be told, however, Charlotte didn’t cry for others…just me!) Whatever the reason, my granddaughter much preferred to remain at a substantial distance from me. I didn’t take it personally—well, maybe I did—and I told myself that she’ll learn to love me. And learning takes time. This I’ve learned.

While I was still trying to get into the joys of being a grandma, a wonderful thing happened! Charlotte turned six months of age and almost immediately liked her “Sassy”—that’s me. (I chose to be called “Sassy” since my premature white hair, a gift passed down from ancestors, was the impetus for insensitive strangers giving me the “grandma” title when my three children were babes themselves. Been there! Done that! So “Sassy” it is!) Thankfully, Charlotte has learned that this “Sassy” person ain’t all bad.

Now I can answer the questions, especially the “love” one. I love this precious and plump Gerber-like baby, whose thighs and legs look exactly like mine. (She does have some “Sassy” in her!) I love when two chubby little arms reach out for me to hold her. I love when she looks at me quizzically when I speak to her and how she smiles at what I say. I love how she wiggles her legs when she’s happy and how her eyes get big when she’s excited. And her legs wiggle and her eyes get big whenever she sees “her Sassy.” Lucky me!