Granny State

Perhaps it’s time to stop interfering

‘Where’s her miniature wind-up toy? Ah yes, I thought that was rather dangerous actually. Try the bin’

Itake off my hat to my daughter. She’s doing something I never did.

“I’m leaving Rose at home for the weekend so I can go to a hen do,” she announces.

My son-in-law will be in charge. And he is more than capable. But saying goodbye to a 15-month-old for two whole days? Really?

“Don’t interfere,” my daughter says crisply. “It’s important for both of them. And yes I know it will be hard being at the other end of the country, but everything will be fine.”

My mind goes back to my own early days of motherhood with a husband who had a long commute (very hard on him), while I was writing from home with three children under seven (also hard). There was no question of me being away overnight. When the youngest was two, I had to turn down a three-day work trip to Singapore, which still niggles. So maybe on reflection, my daughter is right.

Off she goes. I naturally offer to help out. “That would be lovely,” says my son-in-law. But at the same time I don’t want to tread on his patch. After all, this father-daughter time is precious. So I take Rose out for a pram jog and then promise to come round for bath time – except that I am late, so he’s already done it.

The following day, he has a wonderful timetable mapped out, including the soft-ball park. “Are you sure I can’t lend a hand?” I ask wistfully.

“Honestly. We’re fine. But thanks.”

Newish Husband nods sagely when I tell him. “You need to give them time together. You do have a life of your own, you know.”

But since Rose was born, I want to be with her every day. It’s like being in love. That urgent need, when you feel like you might die if you can’t smell their skin or stroke their hair. I just never knew it would be like this with a grandchild.

My daughter, meanwhile, is texting with versions of “Having a great time”, “Miss you” and “Everyone all right?”

“Shall I have Rose when you collect her from the airport?” I say hopefully.

“Actually,” replies my son-in-law, who is kneedeep in glitter and felt tip pens, “we thought we’d both go, with a ‘Welcome back, Mummy’ banner.” Of course.

When I pop round that evening to see my daughter, she is glowing. “It was lovely to be able to sleep through the night,” she says, “although it did feel very strange without my husband and little bean. You were brilliant, darling.” (She’s not addressing me.) “By the way, how did she get that mark on her eyelid?”

“No idea,” I say quickly. “Never seen it before,” says son-in-law, puzzled.

“Oh oh,” sings Rose, who’s developing a great sense of timing.

That evening, there’s a flurry of text messages. Where did I put my daughter’s hairpins when I was tidying up? Out of Rose’s reach, of course. And what about that miniature wind-up toy? Ah yes, I thought that was rather dangerous, actually. Try the bin.

The next morning, when I’m on granny duty again, I suddenly realise something. The red mark on Rose’s eyelid has vanished. “Oh that,” says my daughter airily when she returns that night. “Turned out to be lipstick from when I kissed her hello. Hope you didn’t think I was accusing you…”

I go home, log on to Google and search for “best time to visit Singapore”.

Next week: It’s all in Granny’s bag (or not, as the case might be)