Well, at least I'm not 'Poo-Paw'


Jack is 17 months old now, and starting to talk, sort of. The kitty is "kee" and a ball is "baw." If he wants something that he can't reach, he points and says "dis."

As Jack's grandparents, my wife and I have patiently awaited his beginning experiments in oral communication with high anticipation. We don't have names yet. We'd prefer reasonable derivatives of Grandpa and Grandma.

I'd rather not be Pee-Paw or Poo-Paw, if at all possible.

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During our last visit, it occurred to me that Jack might not know who these big people are who periodically show up at his house for a week or so. One Saturday afternoon, we were all gathered in the living room. I put Jack on my knee.

"Jack," I said. "Do you know who I am?"

Thoughtful stare.

"I'm your mommy's daddy."

More thoughtful staring.

"Jack has a mommy and daddy, and Jack's mommy has a mommy and daddy. Where's Mommy?"

Jack points to Mommy. Bright lad.

"Where's Daddy?"

Jack points to his dad. This kid is an Einstein.

"So ... see? I am Mommy's daddy."

No comment.

A few hours later I returned from a trip to the grocery and walked into the kitchen. Jack was there, with Mommy. He looked up at me, smiled, pointed, and said "Mommy-daddy!"

Oh, my.

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