By Lorry Myers
I first heard the name, “Queenie”, on the day my first grandson was born. The grandma name my children chose for me was announced along with the baby’s name. I immediately connected with the name, Queenie. When my children were growing up and they questioned my authority, I would remind them that “I am the Queen of this castle, I make the rules!”
Now, I carry the name to prove it.
I love my grandma name, Queenie, it makes me feel funky and fun, but it also fills me with self-doubt. Miraculously, I managed to raise my three children to adulthood without sleep sacks and nanny cams and sound machines. Now, I am right back there again only the stress is much greater. Being a grandmother is different than a parent because now you have more people you could disappoint. Grandparenting is fraught with worry and overthinking, and I know every grandparent when left in charge, has thought the unthinkable.
That’s the overthinking part.
What if the car seat isn’t secure? Are they swinging too high or running too far? Is the bath water too hot or too deep? What about a blanket in the crib, or an apple with the peel on? Parking lots become treacherous, and a playground is a broken arm waiting to happen.
No one wants to make that call.
When my children moved away, I believed the days of thinking about childish things were over. Then, they all fell in love and moved back to their hometown and now, here I am. These days I am checking for red dye on food labels and learning how to swaddle. I am playing Cherry-O, singing silly songs, and wearing spit up on my shirt. What if someone falls with scissors, or sticks a fruit snack up their nose, or pokes their eyeball out?
This Queenie thing is much more than I thought.
For the complete article, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard