We got into the car this morning to run a couple of errands.

As we pulled out of the driveway, I turned to my wife and told her how excited I was about the next time we’d see our granddaughter. She agreed, naturally. Duh?

Then I reminded her of a couple of things: One was how when she and I were newly married we got a major kick out of referring to each other as “husband” and “wife.” I guess it’s common for newlyweds to do such things. We giggled at the sound of the words when we were so very young.

Well, you know what? Two years and four months into grandparenthood, we’re still giggling at the sound of “grandma” and “grandpa” and, oh yes, “granddaughter.” I reminded my wife of that as well.

Little Emma Nicole has turned us into mush.

OK, no surprise at that, correct? Every grandparent we’ve met along our long journey together has told us essentially the same thing: Your grandchild will change your life. You’ll become someone you don’t recognize. He or she will wrap you around every little finger of his or her hand … repeatedly, and then even some more after that.

I’m now able to proclaim that Emma has done that. In spades.

My sister, who’s got a bunch of grandkids — and great-grandkids — has told me time and again about the impact that this next generation of children brings with them.

It’s beyond explanation.

I keep wishing for the impossible at this stage, which is: How do we keep Emma this age, this adorable, this precious?

I don’t really and truly want that to happen, given that I know it won’t. My strong hunch is that she’ll become even more adorable and more precious.

Meantime, I never intend to lose touch with how good it feels to say — and hear — the words “our granddaughter.”