DIARY OF A FIRSTTIME GRANDMOTHER (IT’S COMPLICATED)

This week: Granny fears she may be losing her marbles

Ican’t help snapping at Newish Husband after being accused by my daughter of leaving the front door open. It’s because I’m scared – and not just because I could have let a burglar in. I’ve been noticing that sometimes I can’t find the right words when I say a sentence out loud. Is this the beginning of something serious?

To make it worse, I can’t get an appointment with my personal GP until next week.

So I spend the evening on Whatsapp with the granny mafia instead. “I left the garden gate open the other week,” confesses one who can’t be named. “Then I couldn’t find my grandson. I went into meltdown but finally found him curled up by the Aga reading a book. I didn’t tell his parents.”

Mega Gran reckons my word blindness is because I’m doing too much. Takes one to know one. But it’s true that I’m more articulate when it’s not a Rose day. There’s a certain irony that I’m helping to increase her vocabulary (she can now say “Go away”) while the allimportant task of keeping her in one piece is clearly reducing mine.

Then, just as I’m about to go to bed, comes a phone call from my daughter. Instantly my heart goes into overtime. She and son-in-law are normally asleep by 9pm. What’s happened now?

“Mum, I’m SO sorry. One of the neighbours took in a package for us when you and Rose were out and dropped it round using the spare key because they were going away. The wife just rang to say she had problems with the lock, so left it on the catch. The door must have blown open in the wind.”

A huge wave of relief floods through me. Then I’m not losing it after all! As for the double nappybagging and the open stairgate the other week, that could surely happen to anyone. So I cancel my doctor’s appointment.

Meanwhile, the weather is getting colder, which means there is less to do. I’d forgotten, until I became a granny, that my mummy days used to be spent in search of something that would keep my three children amused and (if possible) allow me to write the odd feature at the same time.

Rose and I can no longer jump the waves (the sea’s too fierce) or picnic in the park. So we go to the pub instead. Naturally we’re all too responsible to drink anything alcoholic (apart from the gate-opener who can’t be named). But it is good to get out of the house – especially as I am now banned from my own.

To be fair, Rose and I aren’t so much forbidden as discouraged. This isn’t because Newish Husband is entertaining someone he shouldn’t, but because of his CD collection. Rose has an eye for anything that’s out of bounds. In fact, NH has nicknamed her “Bamm-bamm” because she “leaves a trail of chaos in her wake”.

This time, however, he’s sorting out books for Sue Ryder. (I haven’t been able to show my face there since inadvertently giving away a sex toy, which didn’t belong to either of us. It’s a long story which I won’t bore you with.)

“That one’s mine!” I say, picking up a battered copy of Matilda. I have a sudden memory of reading it to the children every night.

“What’s wrong?” asks NH, noticing my face. “Nothing,” I say. “I thought Rose might like that when she’s older. I’ve also found this. Look.”

It’s My First Picture Book, which NH had as a child. Within seconds, Rose is on his knee, entranced by the pictures.

Then I get that pain in my chest again. Is it serious or merely a symptom of the complexities of modern family life? Quietly I tip-toe out to see if that doctor’s appointment is still available.