Do you know a ‘SELFISH’ Grandmother?

Suzie Marwood - 17 Sep 16

You get the call.

Daughter: “Mother… you’re going to be a Granny!”

“Wow!” you say, gulping back tears of joy and wonderment, “How WONDERFUL. Aren’t you CLEVER! When? When?”

Daughter: “I’ve done 10 tests today and they’re ALL positive, so we’ve worked out it will be September.” (It is at the moment January)…”we’re not telling a soul until 3 months, so I SUPPOSE we shouldn’t get excited yet.”

You: “Absolutely, darling – let’s keep calm and wait till the 3 month scan.”

Then you rush from the house to John Lewis nursery department where you load up with Jellycat soft toys, the tiniest Newborn sleep suits, first-size Ugg Boots, a rocking horse, and myriad of other baby bits. All of which will have to be hidden away until the “official” announcement.

Or do you?

Maybe you say: “Wow!” and think “ME? A GRANNY? Not on your life, babe.”

Inside, I am still 25 years old. I shop at All Saints, Zara and Anthropologie. Visits for hair/nails/eyebrows/face/teeth/feet care are vital to me. I don’t possess a pair of slippers, and I’ve never so much as TASTED Werther’s Originals.

I cannot be described as “twinkly.” I don’t bake cakes. Or make jam or marmalade. My idea of a good time is to pack up my swimsuit, flip-flops , faded Mount Gay T shirt, and Musto shorts and head for the Caribbean for sun, sea, sailing and loads of chilled rosé. My home is minimalist – all white lacquer furniture and white sofas with neither carpets nor curtains, and mostly consists of huge glass windows.

So now, I’m expected to go from chic to sick. From “phew” to poo. To join the ranks of the grey faced (and grey haired) buggy-pushers stomping grimly round Waitrose with a wailing infant, hurling nappies, Aptamil and Ella’s pouches into their baskets, where a few months ago there would have been smoked salmon and a bottle of Chablis for a light supper. To swap Italy for Center Parcs. An evening at the theatre for a night with one ear glued to a Baby Monitor.

I remember a poster from the 60s, with a loving couple locked in an embrace, and the man whispering in the woman’s ear. “Darling, let’s get married while your parents are young enough to look after our children”.

I know friends who pick up and drop off their grandchildren to school/nursery EVERY DAY. This means that they are resigned to only ever having holidays when travel is at its most expensive. That a morning lie-in or a day out is out of the question. A lady’s lunch? Can’t do. A couple of days in Paris on a cheap Eurostar deal. Nope. A round of golf or a game of bridge? A matinee at the cinema? Not unless it’s Half Term. And this at the age of 65, after a lifetime of working AND bringing up their own children, they are again slaves to the school bell.

So, no wonder some of us Grannies-to-be are rebelling. Or laying down some Commandments.

• Thou shalt be available AT ANY TIME DAY OR NIGHT if there is any crisis involving ill-health.

• Thou shalt NOT sign up to regular duties which mean the cancellation of the life you have worked and longed for, unless there is a financial crisis of unsurmountable proportions.

• Thou shalt seek out the most minimally invasive baby equipment for the use of visiting grands, most of which should fold/pack away out of sight when not in use. Jumperoos, giant baby walkers, trampolines belong at home or in Soft Play gulags.

• Thou shalt NOT replace thy jolly attractive china and glass with hideous plastic plates and cups in garish colours be-spattered with the visages of Disney characters.

• Thou shalt introduce the mantra of “Granny doesn’t like that” to encompass using the sofas as trampolines, sucking the wires of your iPad charger, walking around with gungy food or sticky drink in hand or playing with any phone/tablet/computer/tv remote that takes their fancy.

• Thou shalt NOT send photos of your grandchildren to friends unsolicited. It is well known that other people’s grandchildren are ugly, boring and stupid.

• Thou shalt quickly encourage the principle of there being things that “we don’t tell Mummy” if it means bribing with chocolate to give you 10 minutes peace with the crossword.

• Thou shalt NOT criticise even the looniest of ideas your children have about rearing THEIR children. Whether it’s Gina Ford or SuperNanny, cranial osteopathy or baby yoga, just say “jolly good, dear’ and not “we never did/had that in my day and it never did you any harm.”

• Thou shalt teach your grands as many of the old nursery rhymes that you can recall whether politically correct or not.

• Thou shalt insist on the title of your choice. If “Granny” or “Nanny” make your toes curl, ban them. And insist on being Fiona or Cressida or whatever you are. Though you may be surprised and rather tickled by the choice of name the grands have for YOU when they start to talk. This explains all the “Bompas” “Gugpas” “Gumbas” and “Dadpas” there are out there.

• Thou shalt NOT be backward at saying NO if you feel to tired/put upon/keen to do something else other than babysit, but lastly and of course, most importantly….

• Thou shalt love them beyond life itself – as you are bloody lucky to have them. They will bring you tiredness you didn’t know existed and joy and pleasure unlimited. And if you don’t think so, you must be a fool.

Suzie Marwood is mother to 3, grandmother to 4… and unofficial editor of The Doctor and Daughter’s Guide to Pregnancy

Disclaimer: we don’t really think that Joan Collins (pictured) is a ‘selfish’ grandmother. She’s certainly a glamorous one…

Suzie Marwood

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