Granny State: when will I learn to clock off from baby-watching duties?
It started with a casual question. ‘Mum – could you do me a huge favour? Would you mind looking after Rose for an extra day next week on top of my two work days? I really need to see an old friend. And it would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to run around after a toddler while trying to talk.’
Of course. At least that was my immediate reaction. My daughter deserves a break, and besides, I remember all too well how much I had longed for a non-working adult lunch when my three were little.
What I hadn’t realised was how tired I would feel after a three day week. Rose is so quick on her feet that 12 hours is – at a guess – equivalent to a month of my pilates, yoga, tennis and jogging sessions.
I also got myself into a right old muddle over schedules. Usually I do swimming and music class on a Wednesday and library singalong and play group on a Thursday. But because I’d already put in a day before my normal routine, I kept mistaking Thursday for Wednesday and pitched up twenty four hours early at the library. Still, as NH remarked wryly, it made a change from running late all the time.
Talking of time, I still haven’t got the hang of clocking off. I don’t always leave immediately when the ‘children’ return from work.
‘Be careful you don’t get in their way,’ sniffs Bad Gran. ‘They might be too polite to tell you that all they want you to do is b..... off.’
Oh dear. But couple time minus baby is important too. So I’ve fallen into the habit of taking Rose for a pre-breakfast seaside walk at weekends with the dog. Daughter and son in law seem really appreciative but am I intruding? And is it going too far to tidy their bedroom, fold their pyjamas and run a vacuum cleaner round the house during my working hours?
‘Sure you’re not compensating for empty nest syndrome?’ asks NH.
How does a former childless bachelor know about this sort of stuff?
Then comes another question. ‘Mum,’ says my daughter. ‘You didn’t tell me that Rose can now do ‘hold on’ in swimming class. One of my friends told me.’
(‘Hold on’ for the uninitiated is when the toddler in question learns to semi-grip the side of the pool with its chubby little cold hands. It’s only for a second but is considered a vital step in life-saving skills.)
‘I can’t remember to tell you everything,’ I protest. ‘It’s hard enough making sure I hand her back in one piece.’
Her face falls. ‘But I feel I’m missing out if I don’t know what goes on.’
So Rose and I hit on the idea of writing a daily hour sheet. First we ‘colour in’ a picture. Then underneath I log down our various activities with appropriate comic comments and Rose ‘signs’ it with a scrawl. The last entry went something like this: ‘Nabbed someone else’s doll in playgroup. Produced two very full nappies (at 10.21 and 3.49 precisely). Didn’t fancy lunchtime nap but had late sleep from 4 to 6.’
‘What?’ says my daughter. ‘Now she won’t want to go to bed.’
I’m beginning to see why office timesheets aren’t popular.
Still, at least I’ve got a day off coming up – or rather a work meeting in London. I requested this extra leave some weeks ago so my daughter has arranged for a friend to have Rose. But at the last minute, I find I’ve made a mistake about the train time - it’s leaving much earlier than I thought. There’s only one thing for it. NH is going to hold the boat (or rather baby) for the first hour until the friend can get here.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he says nervously. ‘Where did you say you kept the emergency dummy?’
The big day is tomorrow. Watch this space. Meanwhile, this weekend, they’re going to stay with my first husband and his wife. It’s absolutely right that they should do so. But I can’t help feeling rather wistful and –stupidly – left out. How am I going to manage 48 hours without seeing Rose ......
Next week. Grannie has Rose for a whole night – alone
