DIARY OF A FIRSTTIME GRANDMOTHER (IT’S COMPLICATED)

This week: Suffering from empty nest syndrome – for a second time

‘Retail therapy can only go so far. Even the dog is sitting morosely at the foot of Rose’s highchair’

Rose’s paternal grandparents have taken her away for an Indian summer week with her cousins.

“It will give you time to catch up with your work,” points out Newish Husband.

But the energy has gone out of my day without my granddaughter and the chaos she leaves in her wake. When I go around to feed the cats, Rose’s house is horribly tidy and empty. An enormous lifelike doll stares up at me from the nursery chair. It’s stark naked. My first husband and his wife gave it to her and although I admire their reasoning (it’s one way of teaching the birds and the bees) I can’t help popping a nappy on it.

“You know your trouble?” says Bad Gran when I recount the tale amid much hooting at one of our get-togethers. “You’ve got secondary empty nest syndrome. When my lot went to New Zealand for a year, I missed the grandkids more than my son. You need to make a life of your own again.”

“She’s right,” says NH, nodding sagely with all the wisdom of a childless (and until recently) carefree bachelor.

Oh dear. It’s always struck me as odd that parents are expected to merrily wave goodbye to their offspring after having monitored every second of their breathing day. But now I find that it’s equally tough to do the same with Rose who has only been in our lives for 22 months. How on earth did we manage before she was born?

“She’s only gone to Cornwall,” points out NH. “It’s not the other side of the world.”

But it feels like it, especially when happy snaps of Rose and her other family keep zapping through on Whatsapp. That picture of Rose with her paternal grandfather exchanging loving looks over the breakfast table is truly touching. But even though I usually see her every day, I want to be there too. How selfish is that?

I go back to my novel edits but then up pops a message on my phone (which is much smarter than me) announcing that my daughter would like to make a video call to me.

Quickly I press “accept” but I can only hear them. “Click on the camera bit, Mum.” Nothing happens. Even worse, I can hear Rose calling out “Ganny”.

“We’ll have to go, Mum. She’s upset because she can’t see you.”

Now Rose will think that I’ve deserted her.

“Why don’t we go out for the day?” suggests NH. “Take your mind off it.”

So we visit a pretty town where NH heads for the market vinyl stall but instead of browsing for books, I make a beeline for the toy shop. I’m the only child-free adult there. “My granddaughter and I are working on our colours,” I tell the assistant.

She nods seriously. “Very important.”

We spend a delicious half-hour discussing the merits of a multicoloured caterpillar versus a rainbow puzzle. Then I buy a teach-your-toddler numbers game (Competitive Gran claims her 15-month-old in Streatham can count to 20 although we don’t believe her) and leave with £60 less on my bank card.

But retail therapy can only go so far. Even the dog is sitting morosely at the foot of Rose’s highchair.

Then I get a text from my daughter. “Just setting off. Back by tea time. Would you like to come over?”

“Of course,” I’m about to reply. Then I stop. Is she just being polite? Perhaps they really need time on their own after a long journey. This really hurts but it has to be done.

“How about tomorrow instead?” I reply. “I’m just setting off for a tai chi class I’ve just joined.”