KEY POINTS:
Being a grandparent has its challenges. How to give advice without prefacing it with "In my day"? How to shut up when mum and dad are doing the best they can but you know that if they did this other little thing it would be right?
But for some, the most difficult task is finding a suitable name. Will it be Grandma or Nana? Will they call you by your Christian name so that when you're out people will think at 46 you're a family friend, rather than an ancient old grandparent? Will you steal some ethnic moniker or will you be more eastern suburbs and opt for a more classy French version, such as "grand-mère"?
Some people suggest one should wait until the child gives you a name when they start to speak. Will it be "bup-bup" or "moo-moo?" But then how do you know the child is referring to you as "moo-moo" when it comes out of her mouth? Perhaps she was simply playing with the vowel sounds, or spitting out some stewed apple from breakfast? And if you do proudly take Moo-Moo are you then inflicting on your husband the name Poo-Poo because grandparents' names must match? For us, it came down to a simple five-way conversation in the birthing room shortly after our gorgeous, big, bouncy Lila had arrived.
I was the fifth in line, the step-grandmother, so I waited until last. And then it was easy. My husband chose Grandpa, so therefore I would be Grandma. I had briefly pondered with the Italian Nonna but was happy to let it go.
As we left the hospital I looked at my beaming husband and had a moment. So this is what it is all about, I thought as he paid for the parking. This is the pay-off for those times when it was tough and rather than walk away we pulled up our sleeves and got on with the hard work of commitment, creating and holding a family together and launching all those children off into the world in the best state we could.
You arrive at Auckland Hospital on a bright sunny morning and hold in your arms the most beautiful smelling, reassuringly plump and healthy bundle of beauty.
Just when your house starts to empty of children, the next generation arrives to fill the rooms with their small but significant energy.
A few months later, we would have another moment, Grandpa and I. Our dreams of spending most days cuddling and cooing over Lila were not panning out.
"I don't think she likes me," he said, holding his screaming grand-daughter as tightly as he could and rocking her in that special way which has settled all other children that went before, earning him the nickname of "baby whisperer".
Our granddaughter had other ideas about that thing which involved filling the rooms. She'd give us energy all right, but not in the way which had filled our fantasies. It would seem our house, with its noise and madness, is a bit overwhelming.
She arrives full of smiles, placid and gorgeous as usual but once over the threshold all hell breaks loose.
And then suddenly I found in the dark recesses of my brain a well-thumbed volume of baby care tips gleaned from my four babies, one of whom was also fond of a bit of quiet and calm. I was pleased to see it.
"Look at her now," I told my husband once Lila was settled and happy with the things I had asked her parents to bring her familiar pram, her mum's T-shirt so she could smell her and her new friend, the Lion who sings Merry Christmas.
When he returned from the other end of the house, where he had exiled himself with the dog, Lila cried as he peered into the pram.
"Moo-moo" whispered Lila.
