I only ask for a few minutes of your time to listen to my ordeal. After months of providing free childcare services for my daughter, I decided to refuse to do so when things went too far. Now I need you to tell me: was I wrong not to give in to her strange demands and refuse to look after her daughter?
Retirement was supposed to be my time to relax, travel and maybe take up gardening. Instead, I became “Daycare Grandma”, a title I wore with pride. I had retired when my first grandchild was born and, over the years, I had babysat all five of my grandchildren, both my children’s and my stepchildren’s.
“Grandma, tell us the story of the dancing bear again!“ little Tommy begged me, his eyes shining with excitement.
“No, the one about the princess!” Lily replied, climbing onto my lap.
Those moments filled my heart. Their laughter was worth every second of exhaustion, even on the hardest days. It wasn’t always easy, but I loved it.
Whether it was finger painting, reading bedtime stories or comforting a child with a fever, I went out of my way for them. My days were busy but rewarding.
“You work miracles,“ my son James once said, watching me juggle three children while baking cookies. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
“With love,” I replied simply. “Love makes everything possible, dear.”
Alice, my stepdaughter, was the last to have a baby. Her daughter, Ellie, was born when my schedule was already full. I looked after my 18-month-old grandson from Monday to Friday and took care of the older children during the summer holidays.
I wasn’t sure I could take care of another child, but I was willing to help in any way I could.
Unfortunately, Alice and her boyfriend, Sam, made it almost impossible.
Alice and Sam had always been a bit demanding, but I wasn’t prepared for the three-page list they gave me when Alice was ten weeks pregnant.
“We’ve drawn up some rules,” Alice said, in too casual a voice. ”If you’re going to babysit my baby, you’ll have to accept them.”
I leafed through the list and my jaw almost hit the floor.
“I can’t cook? I can’t have more than one grandchild over? And what’s this about my cat? Muffin has to stay out of the baby’s rooms, even when your baby’s not here?” I looked at them in disbelief. ”This is…a lot.”
Sam crossed his arms. “It’s for the safety of our baby.”
“Safety?” I raised my voice. ”I have raised three children, helped raise two stepchildren and taken care of four grandchildren without a single incident. What exactly are you implying about my abilities?”
“Times have changed, Ruby,“ said Sam dismissively. ‘There are new studies, new recommendations…’
“New recommendations about cooking?” I interrupted, my hands trembling with anger. “About having siblings and cousins around? About cats that have been part of the family longer than you?”
“Mum,” Alice pleaded, ‘we only want the best for our baby.”
“I’m sure they mean well,’ I said, handing the list back to her, struggling to keep my voice firm, ”but this won’t work for me. They’ll have to find another nursery.”
Their faces fell, but I stood my ground.
Months later, Alice called me in a panic. Her voice broke with desperation. “Mum, our babysitter canceled at the last minute. Can you look after Ellie tomorrow? Just for one day?”
I hesitated. ”You know I won’t follow those rules, right? I’ll take care of her safely and properly, but I won’t micromanage.”
Alice sighed. “It’s okay. We just really need some help.”
That ‘one day’ turned into four months. While Alice was tolerable, Sam was a nightmare. Every time he picked up Ellie, he would make sarcastic comments about Muffin, about how many children she had at home or whether she had cooked that day.
One afternoon, while I was reading to Ellie and her cousin, Sam arrived early.
“My, my,” he sneered, ‘I see we’re breaking the rules again. Two children at once? How dangerous.”
I pulled Ellie closer, feeling her tiny fingers cling to my shirt. ’Sam, if you have concerns, we can discuss them like adults. But not in front of the children.”
She scoffed. “I guess we have no choice but to put up with this for now.”
And the other day she said to me, ”I guess you’re glad you won, Ruby.”
On Sunday nights I had begun to dread the week ahead of me. The joy I once felt at the sight of my grandchildren was overshadowed by Sam’s constant negativity and Alice’s incessant questions:
“Did the baby cry? Did you change her diaper twice? Did you feed her?”
I had raised my children on my own, did they really think I was new to this motherhood thing? Some days were worse than others, but I let it go, attributing it to them being “first-time parents” who were trying too hard to do everything right.
Thanksgiving was the breaking point. I had told Alice and Sam well in advance that I would have all my grandchildren at home during the holidays. But Sam was not happy.
“This is not safe,” he said during a particularly tense pickup. ”You can’t keep an eye on all those kids and take good care of Ellie.”
“I’ve been doing this for years, Sam,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. ”All these kids are a family. They love and look after each other, and there’s nothing to worry about here.”
“That’s not good enough,” he interrupted. ‘Ellie needs individual attention. She needs…”
“Then make other arrangements,’ I said calmly.
Of course, they didn’t.
On the first day of the Thanksgiving vacation, Sam picked up Ellie and made another sarcastic comment, this time directly to her. ”I’m sorry, my girl. I guess we have no choice but to leave you abandoned in an unsafe situation.”
My heart broke. Seven-month-old Ellie may not have understood the words, but I felt humiliated. Her lower lip trembled and she began to cry.
“How dare you?” I whispered, my voice trembling with rage. ”How dare you poison her against me? Against her family?”
I picked Ellie up in my arms, soothing her tears as I looked at Sam. “You can criticize me all you want, but don’t you dare use this beautiful little girl as a weapon in your petty war.”
Sam opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. ”You may think you’re an expert on everything, but let me remind you that respect is earned, not demanded. And right now? You’re getting nothing.
Sam sneered, folding his arms. “Respect? You mean the respect you show by ignoring our rules? It’s funny, because from where I’m standing, you’re the one who’s overstepping the mark.”
That was it.
That night I called Alice, her voice hoarse with tears. “You have two weeks to find another nursery. And from now on, Sam is not welcome here. If he comes to pick up Ellie, I won’t look after her again.”
“Mom, please,” Alice pleaded. “I didn’t mean to…”
“She meant every word,” I interrupted. ”And your silence makes you an accomplice. Two weeks, Alice. That’s it.”
Alice reluctantly agreed and, for a while, things improved. However, on New Year’s Day, I received several messages from friends with screenshots of a post Sam had made on his social media page.
“Thank you for finally finding someone safe to look after Ellie, after having to deal with a HORRIBLE babysitter,” the post said. He tagged me and added, “Some people are not cut out for babysitting.”
What hurt the most? Alice had liked the post.
She was FURIOUS. After months of free childcare, of putting up with Sam’s endless criticism and Alice’s endless demands, this was how they paid me back? I collapsed into my husband’s arms, sobbing.
“Thirty years,” I choked. ”I’ve been babysitting for thirty years. How can they say I’m not cut out for it?”
“They’re wrong,” he whispered, stroking my hair. ‘Everyone knows they’re wrong.”
I decided it right there and then: It was over.
A few days later, Alice called again. ’Mom, the nursery has let Ellie go. Can you look after her again?”
I took a deep breath and leaned on the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry about your situation, Alice, but I can’t do it. I don’t feel comfortable watching Ellie anymore.”
“Please, Mom,” she sobbed. ”We have no one else. I might have to quit my job.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you let Sam publicly humiliate me. Before you liked his cruel post.”
“It was stupid, I know,” she admitted. ‘It’s just… I felt trapped between you and him. Please, Mom. We’ll do anything.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks. ‘But sometimes ’anything’ comes too late.”
I found out the truth later. The nursery hadn’t abandoned Ellie: her parents had left her because they couldn’t afford it. Alice and Sam hadn’t realized that the nursery didn’t provide the essentials, like diapers, wipes, and formula. They had assumed that $350 a week covered everything. Sam was also surprised to learn that one worker took care of five children at a time.
Now they were in trouble. Sam had to sell his dirt bike and Alice sold all her designer handbags to pay for the nursery.
My husband and my stepson think I should reconsider for Ellie’s sake. “Sam is the problem,” they argue. “Why punish Alice and Ellie for his behavior?”
One night, during a heated family dinner, my stepson blurted out to me. “If he were your own daughter’s son, you would forgive him and move on.”
The room went silent. I put down my fork, my hands trembling.
“How dare you?” I whispered, my eyes filled with tears. ”How dare you suggest that I love any of my grandchildren less than others? I have poured my heart and soul into this family for decades. I have loved your children as if they were my own. But love does not mean accepting abuse.
“Mom is right,” my daughter Sarah spoke up, her voice fierce. ”Everyone saw how Sam treated her. How Alice allowed it. Would you let someone treat your mother like that?”
My stepson’s words stung, but they weren’t true. I had always treated my stepchildren and my biological children equally. The difference was respect. My own children and their spouses respected me. But Alice and Sam did not.
In the end, Ellie went back to nursery and I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I could finally enjoy time with my other grandchildren without Sam’s negativity hanging over me.
One morning, as I watched my grandson painting, he looked at me with serious eyes.
“Grandma,” he said, ”why doesn’t cousin Ellie come anymore?”
My heart sank. “Sometimes, sweetheart, adults have disagreements that make it difficult to be together. But that doesn’t mean we love Ellie any less.”
“I miss her,” he said.
“So do I, sweetheart,” I whispered. ”So do I.”
Alice and Sam are learning the hard way that free nursery is not a right, but a privilege.
So, am I wrong to refuse to look after Ellie any more? Maybe. But respect is a two-way street. If they can’t appreciate the help they’ve been given, they’ll have to fend for themselves.
Last week, I saw Alice in the supermarket. She looked tired and stressed. Our eyes met in the fruit and veg section and, for a moment, I saw my little girl again, the one who used to run to me with skinned knees and a broken heart, trusting me to fix everything.
But I’m not that kind of band-aid anymore. To all the Sams and Alices of the world: grandma is not a free babysitter.