GRANNY STATE DIARY OF A FIRSTTIME GRANDMOTHER (IT’S COMPLICATED)

This week: Granny learns the importance of living for the moment

The phone rings when I am halfway through a nappy. Rose is trying to help at the same time, which is thoughtful but not very helpful. Her fingers now need as much cleaning as her lower half. I can see from the flashing screen on the carpet next to me that it’s my writing agent who really needs to talk to me. So I attempt to grab the mobile with one hand and continue cleaning with the other.

Big mistake. Now it’s on the phone as well. “I’m sorry,” I say, frantically pulling out another wet wipe. “I can’t talk right now. It’s a Rose day.”

Thirty-odd years ago, when I was bringing up my own three and freelancing for various publications, I would never have dared say this for fear of being seen as unprofessional.

In fact, once, when a particularly important magazine editor rang while the children were having a fight, I pretended there was “something wrong with the line” and cut her off.

But times have changed and it is – I’ve discovered – quite acceptable to tell the truth about juggling childcare with work.

“Don’t worry,” says my agent. “I remember those days. Enjoy them.”

And I am. In fact, I’m having much more fun second time around than I did with my three children. “Why?” says my frowning daughter when I admit this.

It’s because Rose has helped me discover my inner child. Her laughter is the most joyous sound I have ever heard. And it makes me laugh, too.

We also rebel together. “Have you taught her how to eat an ice cream?” asked my daughter the other day during one of our debriefs.

Uh oh. This was on the banned list from the beginning. “Why?” I ask cagily, thinking of a delightful afternoon last week when Rose and I had sat on the front, indulging in a double choc chip.

“Because she knows exactly how to lick one.” “So, you gave her one?” “It’s all right now, just as long as she doesn’t have too much.” I see.

But then, came sadness. Rose’s paternal greatgrandmother passed away: a wonderful woman who took huge pride in her family.

Rose had often visited her in Wales and, on the last occasion, had the entire hospital ward in hysterical laughter when she insisted on pushing the Zimmer frame up and down the corridor.

“We’re going to take Rose to the funeral,” my daughter tells us.

Really? Is that wise? But I couldn’t have been more wrong. Rose – along with her other little cousins – made the older congregation smile even though they were crying at the same time. Granny Pat, as she was known, had left a wonderful living, breathing legacy in these bright young faces.

It also made me think about my own mortality. I cannot bear the thought of not being here when Rose gets married or has her own children. Yet, given that I’m 61 and she’s not quite two, I’ll be lucky to see that happen. It made me quite teary.

“That’s why we have to make the most of what we have now,” says New Husband, giving me a comforting hug. He’s right. Next month, we’re all off on a family holiday in Menorca. There will be three generations of us. And one thing is certain: Rose and I are having an ice cream every day.

Next time: Rose goes off Granny

‘I’m having much more fun more second time around than I did with my three children’