Because I Dreamed

Juju.  It's a name given to me by toddlers who couldn't pronounce "Judy". It's a name.  Not a belief, not a practice of witchcraft, or voodoo. It's a name...that stuck. I am Juju. I am a grandma.  And when I became a grandma I didn't feel worthy of grandma status. Grandmas have gray hair. Grandmas have facial hair. Grandmas wear corsets, and braziers, and have false teeth. Grandmas are awesome! So all my grandkids, and many others who love me, now refer to me as Juju. I am Juju, and there's nothing that warms my soul quite like hearing that. 

When my eldest grandchild, Reese, was 4 years old I remember the day we were attempting to explain to him the family structure. "I am your Mommy's mommy", I said. "That makes me your grandma".  
"No!" he rebutted, "I don't have a grandma, I have a Juju!"  He is 9 now, and I recently heard him explaining the family structure to the youngest members of our clan, "she's Juju, but she really is our grandma." 
As quaint as this may be, to me it brings up the dilemma of aging.  Aging when you aren't really ready for it. Aging into "grandma". Aging into a body that surely must belong to someone else... unfamiliar, awkward, baggy, saggy, uncooperative, with weird hair and spotted skin, other-worldly moans and groans, and strange noises from the digestive tract. Just-yesterday-I was-30 kind of madness, and now 5 not so little offspring of my offspring call me Their Juju! Yikes! How did this happen so fast?! Why does it feel like I skipped ahead, spacing out an entire eon of my life?  What happened to my dreams? My bucket list? The things God promised me? (I have a dream book, you know.)