A few weeks before my daughter gave birth she asked me what I wanted to be called.
Did I want to be called Nana? Grandma? Grammie? MeeMaw?
“What kind of baby are you having?”, I asked.
“What do you mean?” S asked. “Like, am I having a chicken baby or an asparagus baby or a medium rare baby?”
“S”, I said, “You are overthinking the question….are you having a girl or boy?”
“Chicken, stop dramatizing for your blog. You know I’m having a girl. You planned the very pink shower with all the creepy baby dolls.”
“Look, S, don’t take your pregnancy hormones out on me. I guess she can call me ‘Pony’.”
“Pony? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
“Girls love ponies.”
“Oh….ok, true, Chicken, I get it. What if she had been a boy?”
“I’m so glad. I thought you might go in a different direction.”
Ah S.You know me too well.
World, meet McKenna. Let’s call her Apple,
Missed you, World.
Grammie Chicken Out