What’s in a name?

I have long since passed the stage in my life where those that I love, really love, cause me to swoon in adoration when they enter a room. And, in turn, only my French poodle trembles with excitement when she sees me.

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‘To be or not to be’

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There is, however, a small human who has been on this earth for about 24 months who has wreaked havoc with my emotions. It is such a cliché, I know, but there is something incredibly special about becoming a grandparent and this feisty little soul has bewitched me with her strong will and apparent fearlessness. On her arrival, we all agreed that I would be called Nana, and her other grandmother would be Granny. I liked the idea of being Nana – it is a nod to my British roots and sounds gentle and loving.

A few weeks ago, the family arrived to stay with us for a few days, and out of the car jumped the much-loved small human. She beamed at me, said, “Hello Nina” and then waltzed off to find my dog who is her current obsession.

Nina? Who the hell is Nina? And what happened to Nana? I liked being her Nana. And how on earth does she know that Nina is even a name? And yet, no matter how much we all call me Nana, she smiles beautifully and continues to call me Nina.

As befits her age, we are all currently at her beck and call: when she wants to play with me, she will say, “Come, Nina”. I then explain that I am talking to Mummy and that I will be with her shortly. The second “Come, Nina” is spoken with more force, although she is still smiling, just. I chastise her for interrupting, and she waits a short while longer. Then she puts her hands on her tiny hips and bellows, “COME, NINA.” By this stage, my ears are ringing and my eyes are watering. I give up.

After all, a nana is still a nana by any other name.