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

‘At last we can have a full night’s sleep,” murmurs Newish Husband after we return from our three‑generational holiday in Spain. But not me. I rather miss those all‑ nighters where daughter, son‑in‑law and I padded around the villa in our PJS, trying to soothe Rose. How lovely to be part of a little family again (even though, truth be told, she only wanted her parents in the small hours).

“You’ve got to let them live their own lives,” points out NH. I know he’s right but even so, it now seems odd to prepare lunch for two instead of rustling up a family salad on the patio next to the swimming pool. Then my daughter rings. “Mum? You know how well Rose did with her water wings when we were away? How about going to the pool this afternoon to maintain her swimming skills?”

Words like “maintain” and “skills” along with encouraging phrases such as “nice hand co‑ordination!” are, I’ve discovered, part of today’s parent‑speak, where life is a series of development targets. But naturally, I leap at the opportunity to have quality time with Rose, seeing as her parents (both in teaching) are now off work. So off we go and find that her splash toddler pool club is surprisingly empty for a Monday morning. Rose looks at me in disdain: “I’m not going in that, I want the big girl’s pool like on holiday.”

OK. She doesn’t exactly come out with the full sentence, but her determined “No” and shake of the head makes it more than plain. After much coaxing, we finally plop into the water. Then come the dreaded words: “Poo poo”. Not here! Horrified, I glance up at the CCTV. We scramble to the side but it’s clear there isn’t time to make it to the changing rooms. Luckily I have a spare nappy and wipes on hand. I work fast, conscious that the camera might or might not be focused on us. Then – oh no – an elderly swimmer comes in.

By now, I’ve secreted the evidence in a fragrant bag and Rose is clamouring to return to the water. “Do join me,” says the older lady, donning her flowery cap. “I love little ones.” The two of them have a great time, out‑splashing each other. “Takes me back to the days when mine were small,” she says wistfully. So I’m not the only one.

The next day I offer my granny services again, but I’m told Rose has got a week’s worth of activities that don’t involve me. “Isn’t the novel due in next week?” points out NH. Yes – but my heart aches for those just‑rose‑and‑me days. I’m sure she’s going off me because of our reduced hours.

Then I get a call from son‑in‑law, who has a migraine. “Is there any chance you can come round?” he asks. Yes! I fly over on my bike. Back at our place, Rose proceeds to dent the Victorian wooden hall floor with her dolly pram wheel tracks, set the dishwasher to a two‑and‑a‑half‑hour cycle and smash one of NH’S mugs, which I’ve always hated because a previous girlfriend gave it to him.

“Nice work,” I murmur encouragingly. Rose’s expression says “Let’s get out before he discovers it”. Good idea. We can deposit the broken evidence in a bin, en route.

“Hello,” says an elderly woman just as it hits the bottom. It’s the floral‑cap swimmer from the pool. She chucks Rose under the chin. “How’s this little mermaid doing?”

Ridden with guilt over the poo episode, I find myself confessing. She roars with laughter. “Don’t you worry about that. I wear an incontinence pad myself.” She pats my arm. “Life’s a full circle. When you’re a great‑granny like me, you’ll understand.”

Next time: Granny tries to get pregnant... sort of

This week: A trip to the swimming pool with Rose nearly ends in disaster, while greatgranny offers some heartfelt wisdom

‘My heart aches for those justrose-andme-days. I’m sure she’s going off me because of our reduced hours’