A Story I Want to Tell My Granddaughter: Boom-Boom Bunny (or Birdie)

When I was first born, my parents brought me home to a tiny pre-fabricated house on Roberts Street in Richland, Washington. It had two bedrooms, but apparently my room was very small. I don’t remember living in that house, and I’ve never seen any pictures of my bedroom there, so I can’t say whether that is true.

My bedroom on Roberts Street had a window that my parents covered with curtains—curtains with a bunny rabbit pattern. Again, I don’t remember the bunnies, so I have to take my mother’s word for it.

The curtains had yellow bunnies my mother named Sunny Bunny, and pink bunnies named Honey Bunny, and blue bunnies named Funny Bunny. My mother would point them out—the yellow, the pink, the blue—and name them each in turn.

And then, she would tickle my tummy, and call me the “Boom Boom Bunny.” This made me laugh every time, she told me.

My granddaughter’s bedroom in her parents’ home is very small as well. The nursery was carved out of a space under an eave formerly used as a home office. My son-in-law added doors and an air-conditioner. It is adequate for a crib, a dresser that doubles as a changing table, a bookcase already full of books, and a very comfortable rocking chair. What more does a baby need?

My granddaughter doesn’t have patterned curtains on the window in her room. But she has a bird mobile above her crib. When I visited her just after she was born, I set the mobile to moving and danced with her to the movement of the birds. I’d forgotten my mother’s bunny sing-song, so I didn’t name the birds when I danced with her. But I doubt she would have noticed the names at that point.

I’ll be visiting her again soon, when she’ll be five and a half months old. Now, she’s old enough to appreciate a tickle in the tummy. And maybe to tell the difference between the birds. So this time, maybe I’ll set the mobile to moving and point out the birds, one by one—the big birdie, the blue birdie, the baby birdie, and whatever strikes my fancy.

And I’ll end with a little tickle as I call her my “Boom-Boom Birdie.” Maybe I will get a laugh.

Then, when she is older, I’ll tell her about my mother, me, and the bunny curtains. My mother—her great-grandmother—would have loved to tell the story herself.

What games do you play with your grandchildren?