Should you Airbnb with a baby?

This week: Daughter discovers the perils of entering the world of Airbnb

‘So,” says my daughter, “you know we’re always broke?’

No need to answer in the affirmative. Like many young parents, there’s never enough to go around. “We’ve decided to do Airbnb.”

I get a flutter of panic. “Is that wise?” I ask, “to have a stranger in the house with a toddler around?”

Well, it has to be said, doesn’t it? I know “everyone does it” these days, but Rose’s bedroom is right next door to the guest suite. Anything can happen. Indeed, my mind has already gone into overdrive.

“Of course it is,” answers my daughter breezily, with the confidence of a 31-year-old far wiser than her 61-year-old mother. “We’ve already got three bookings – one starts tonight – and I’ve checked their references. Two are grannies like you.” “And the third?” There’s a slight hesitation. “A single man.”

Luckily, they’re starting with Granny Number One. The morning after, I Whatsapp them. (This, I’ve discovered, is much safer than ringing on the mobile or the landline, both of which invariably wake up Rose and incur a stern reprimand for me.) “How did it go?”

“Terrible,” came the reply. “You freaked me out so much with your ‘what-ifs’ that I watched the monitor all night and didn’t sleep a wink.” “Sorry,” I say lamely. The following night was even worse. Rose – who still hasn’t quite cracked this sleeping-through-the-night lark – yelled so much that my son-in-law had to drive her to the nearest big town and back (a total of 25 miles) at 2.30am.

“Surely your guest would have understood?” I say. Not so. Apparently, she’s here for a rest from her own grandchildren and didn’t appreciate her sleep being interrupted.

Granny Number Two arrived a few days later. “Guess what?” texted my daughter. “She left the key in the front door. Anyone could have walked in.”

I just about manage to bite back the “I told you so”.

Then comes the single man, who warrants a proper phone call. “We’ve got a bit of a problem,” says my daughter. I knew it.

“Oh no. He’s fine. It’s just that some of our friends from Thailand are over… would you mind putting them up for a night?”

Newish Husband clearly has his reservations. “Let’s get this right,” he says. “They’re getting paid for Airbnb, and we’re doing it for free?”

The friends turn out to be the best guests we’ve ever had. Not only did they arrive with a bottle plus several apologies for “disturbing” us, but they also had the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen (apart from Rose, of course).

They turn down the offer of a travel cot, explaining that they all sleep together. But our house is on three storeys with steep drops. It would be easy for the toddler to creep out of bed and go exploring.

“I told you we should have got a stairgate,” I hiss to NH. “What if he falls?”

That night, neither of us sleep. When we wake, their room is empty with the sheets already stripped. There’s a note: “Thank you for having us. We didn’t want to bother you, so have left early.” NH spends the morning ordering a stairgate from Amazon.

The following night, I get a frantic text from my daughter at 11.30pm. “Our Airbnb-er has woken Rose by running a bath, and now she’s complaining about the noise. We’re on our way over.”

Hastily, I remake the spare bed.

“What’s going on?” murmurs NH. “Nothing,” I hiss. “Go back to sleep.”

Next time: Granny falls out with her daughter over a risk assessment

‘I get a flutter of panic. Is it wise to have a stranger in the house with a toddler around?’