Delusions of Grandma

I find myself being sucked in to every display of baby clothes and toys, especially little girl ones.

I was standing in front of a rack of tiny, frilly pink dresses in Walt Disney World, enthusing yet again recently. "Isn't this cute? Feel this fabric - isn't it soft?"

"Mom. You don't need it. She doesn't need it." My son has appointed himself as my voice of reason.

"Sure she does!"

"Mom. No. Walk away."

I try and explain that he's fighting a losing battle. This behavior is encoded on my DNA. "Come on. I'm a grandma."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am!"

Dramatic sigh from my teenager. "You are not a grandparent. You have delusions of grandma."

OK. So the child in question is not related to me, by blood, marriage or adoption. I did not give birth to or raise her mother. I've never even met her father. She does, however, belong to us, to my whole family, as do her blood relatives.

The "she" in question is Lilya Jade, cherubic daughter of my oldest child's oldest friend. We have considered her mother part of our family since she was seven years old. Her sister, whom we also claim, was six; my girls were also six and seven. Now Lilya is also part of our family.

Most people have someone in their lives that they consider family without benefit of blood or legal ties. Those of us who are blessed to have many of these people in our lives know how valuable they are. Most people aren't too puzzled by this concept.

Of course, sometimes they are. I remember perplexing my best friend's mother. "Why do Sharon's children call you Aunt Ariane?" she'd asked. During high school, her daughter and I were inseparable. Years after their editor referred to Woodward and Bernstein as "Woodstein" (but years before the press felt the need to coin a combined name for every celebrity couple), we were collectively known as "Shariane." How could she not be my children's aunt?

The G-word, though, is so fraught with emotional baggage, so tied up in feelings about age and aging, that I'm finding that people react strongly and unpredictably to it.

When my daughter got married, a friend asked me, "So, are you ready to be a grandmother?" She was undoubtedly planning on ribbing me about how old I was, because she seemed surprised by my answer – "Oh, yeah."

She stared blankly at me for a moment, then said, "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not!" she insisted. "You still have kids at home."

I never thought that being a grandparent was the exclusive domain of empty nesters. I was 11 and my sister was 14 when our older sister made us aunts. My mother was 47, and it wasn't even her oldest child having the baby. My friend Jacquie loved it when her aunt came to visit; her aunt was almost exactly her age. I'd known since I was first pregnant that my kids could be past their teen years and married, and still make me a grandparent in my thirties, and I wasn't a teenage parent.

I do not understand people who equate being a grandparent to having one foot in the grave. I will never be one of those people who makes up a ridiculous nickname – "Call me Mumu" – to avoid the G-word. Names in other languages – Abuela, Nonno – are great, but denial is not.

Still, only one of my friends had children when I did (she's a grandparent twice over, and loves it), so many of my friends from childhood do not want to hear the G-word. Several of my close friends from school have oldest children younger than my youngest. My kids have been making them feel old for years, so I should have seen this coming. I didn't.

"Don't even mention grandkids! My child is still in elementary school!" one friend said to me. My child was still in elementary school as well, but she was my youngest. My oldest was a married woman.

I'm hoping that I never become one of those parents who leans on their kids to produce offspring, but I'm also not telling them to put it off. Sometimes that baffles even my kids. When one of my daughters asked me about it, I pointed out to her that I married young and had kids immediately. "That's why you're supposed to tell us to avoid it! You're supposed to be telling us how you did it all wrong, and how we shouldn't make your mistakes!" she said. I have made many mistakes, but my family isn't one of them.

Meanwhile, little Lilya was a surprise for her lovely mama. She didn't think she'd be having kids this soon. Life does that to you. I like the Yiddish saying that man plans, and God laughs. Families expand and contract despite our plans, our wishes, our expectations. Change can be very good.

She'll be turning one in a matter of weeks. She lives hundreds of miles away, so we won't be attending a party, taking photos or watching her tear into a cake made by her Auntie Terry. Probably because of that, I find myself over-shopping. I could send this! Or this! Or both! I should just send an easily mailable, useful gift certificate, but I won't. It is useless to tell a grandparent not to shop for a birthday.

Delusions indeed. Is that any way to talk about Lilya's Grandma Sharon?