DIARY OF A FIRSTTIME GRAND MO TH ERR (IT’ S COMPLICATED)

Granny spends her first whole night alone with Rose

As the date of departure approaches, my daughter becomes as nervous as I am

‘M orning, Rose! Are you ready for our first night together, home alone? If you bring the booze, I’ll bring the fags!”

My text was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t go down well. “Mum,” said my daughter sternly. “This is a big thing for us. You’ve got to take this seriously.”

Trust me. I am. The flippant text is a shield to hide my terror. It wasn’t my idea. In fact, it’s all down to one of my daughter’s friends’ mothers who apparently has her grandson overnight every week.

“We thought we’d give it a go,” says my daughter as if she is doing me a favour. “Would it be all right if we booked a night at a spa?”

It’s two hours away. Too far to come back immediately if Rose has a tantrum at 1am. “Why are you so worried?” asks Newish Husband. “You have her all day, twice a week.” True. Yet the thought of having her all night is far more daunting.

As the date approaches, my daughter becomes as nervous as I am. “Don’t forget to put on a nappy this time.” (She hasn’t forgotten the one time I neglected to do this.) “Make sure you take the monitor with you to bed. She’ll need milk just before bedtime but take a spare Tommy Tippee with water for when she wakes in the night.”

“What if I can’t calm her?” I ask.

“Go downstairs and put on Peppa Pig.”

At the last moment, they almost don’t go. “I’m going to miss you,” gulps my daughter as Rose waves goodbye delightedly.

Rose and I spend the day splashing in puddles, sorting shapes and bashing the piano. Then we head back to her house at the other end of town. This is usually when the “children” get back from work and I finish my shift. Instead, I have 24 more hours. Help! I give Rose tea, bathe her and get her to sleep by 6.30pm.

“Too soon,” texts my daughter when I send the WhatsApp report. “She’ll wake up really early now.”

NH comes round but then heads back to our house at 9pm. I’m too worried about having my usual bath in case it wakes Rose on the other side of the wall. So I lie awake in bed with the monitor. Every time she moves, there’s a gigantic whale‑like noise. Then silence for 10 minutes. So I disobey instructions and creep in to check she’s breathing. I have to bend so close that she stirs before going back to sleep. Phew.

I doze in and out until there’s a yell. It’s 1.30am – just as I feared. I dash in with water and spare dummy. Miraculously, they work. She nods off. But there’s a huge thump. Rose has moved up the cot and banged her head. Silence. Is she all right? I dash in. Fine. Back to the spare bed. Doze. The monitor shrieks, flashing warnings that the room temperature is too high. I sneak back to open the window. The monitor is still shrieking. I press “Dismiss” but it doesn’t work. There’s only one thing to do.

I tiptoe back into the nursery with my duvet and bed down next to the cot in the sparkly pink play tent. When Rose stirs, all I have to do is glance up to check she’s safe. It’s far less worrying than hearing crashing whales.

I wake bang on 6am to hear a coo. Rose is standing bolt upright, looking down on me. My back is killing me.

We get dressed, have breakfast and then go and wake NH. “So much for my lie in,” he grumbles. At 11.30am, there’s a knock on our door. “We came back early,” says my daughter grabbing Rose from my arms. “Thanks so much, Mum. You look a bit tired. Everything all right?”

I’m in bed by 8pm. But I can’t sleep. “Tell you what,” I text. “Why don’t I have her round to sleep at our place once a week? Just to give you a break.” Next time: Rose goes to her first Silver Surfers film