DIARY OF A FIRSTTIME GRANDMOTHER (IT’S COMPLICATED)
This week: A family holiday with three generations is making Granny nervous
It seemed like a good idea at the time. A summer family holiday in Menorca with three generations.
In fact, we had all gone away together the year before and it worked like a treat. Perhaps that’s because Rose was only eight months old and not mobile enough to cause trouble.
But this year, she can run as fast, if not faster, than all of us. She also has a “no fear” attitude.
As our departure date approaches, I begin to get the heebie-jeebies. Will the villa have steep steps? And what about those slippery Spanish tiles?
“Don’t worry,” says Newish Husband with the air of a non-parent who has never had to deal with a bump on the forehead. “By the way, I thought we’d go out to dinner à deux on the first night.”
“Actually,” I reply, “I promised we’d babysit. It’s their wedding anniversary, remember?”
“Maybe the boys could do it?”
Certainly not the youngest, who has just bailed because he’s got a new job (highly commendable if it weren’t for the fact that we’d spent weeks trying to find a mutually acceptable date in the first place). So instead, I am forking out for him to join us just for the weekend.
“Quite right, too,” remarks my daughter. “It’s about time he saw more of Rose. She won’t know he’s her uncle.”
Already, I sense tension brewing.
“Do we really need all this?” asks NH, examining my hand luggage. Apart from my laptop (the next novel is due to my publishers), there’s a pink musical potty, a “How To Stop Bashing Other Toddlers” book, four packs of nappies and a swimming costume with a yellow duck on the front.
“It’s Rose’s overflow case,” I explain.
Then the phone goes. It’s my daughter.
“Mum, you did order a safety pool net, didn’t you? “And a highchair and cot?”
“Of course I did. I’m not totally incompetent, you know.”
“May I have the villa people’s number so I can check? Oh and would you mind having Rose for a bit so I can pack?”
It’s a pleasure. Now that my daughter and son-inlaw have finished work for the school holidays, I really miss my two formal granny days a week.
When I walk through our seaside town, I get remarks like “No baby today, then?” It’s enough to make me wonder if I’ve left her somewhere by mistake.
Rose has a brilliant time helping me get ready (“I need that in the case and not out!”) while her mother has some peace and quiet.
Then a friend calls for the spare keys.
“My brother goes away with his wife and her ex-husband, plus his boyfriend and all their kids,” she tells me. It gets me thinking. Will we ever get to the stage when we could do the same with the other four grandparents, too?
“Why would you want to do that?” asks another chum.
Maybe it’s because I want Rose to grow up in a harmonious environment. Or perhaps it’s because I genuinely don’t want the other adults to feel they’ve missed out.
My daughter arrives to collect Rose and I ask her to help me print out the boarding cards.
Whoops. “You said the flight was at 7am,” she points out. “Look, it’s 6am. That’s going to play havoc with Rose’s wake-up time.”
“Not to mention the taxi I’ve ordered,” mutters NH.
Rose meanwhile is grinning like a Cheshire cat. We soon find out why. Somehow she’s nabbed a crisp euro note from NH’S wallet and sneaked it into her very own bag. That girl will go far.
Next time: Will Granny make any more mistakes?