Surprise, surprise

When you've got four children, it's going to happen sometime. Now there's only 17 days to go. Give or take.

I didn't expect it for a few years, but I knew what was coming last December when my no. 3 child, Giovanna, sat me down to 'tell me something'. It had come as a bit of a surprise to her too. She and her partner had not long set up home together and weren't planning this event for a while. Still, there it was, their first baby and my first grandchild.

I wasn't as shocked as she expected. 'That's bad news,' she decided. 'You and dad are always like good cop and bad cop. That means he's going to be the cross one.'

She was wrong. Probably because he couldn't quite take it in. I don't think he has yet. It'll take the appearance of little Blodwyn Bubaloo (my nickname combined with her partner's nickname) to make him realise he's a grandad. Not that he's decided on a name for himself yet.

Me, I decided long ago I was going to be 'Nonna'. My name and that of my daughter might give a clue why. My father was Italian and Nonna is what they call grandmothers in Italy. My husband doesn't fancy Nonno, the male equivalent. I agree it doesn't quite sound right in English. I'm also half Welsh, so I did briefly consider 'Nain' (pron. 'nine'), the male equivalent being 'Taid' (pron. 'tide'), but the Italian side won out.

The only name my husband has come up with so far is 'Grand Sponser'. It is, of course, a joke. I hope.