I’m no nanny, and I’m no servant.
At 62, I live in Manchester, and recently, my heart was shattered by a situation I never saw coming. My daughter, Emily, and her husband, James, have decided that my life should revolve around caring for their little girl, my granddaughter, Charlotte. I’ve always done my best to be a loving grandmother, but my patience has finally snapped. I refused to be their unpaid nanny, and the outrage that followed was explosive. I won’t be treated like hired help—I have a right to my own life too!
When Emily had Charlotte, I rushed to support her however I could. I babysat, took the baby for walks, fed her, washed her clothes—anything to give my daughter a moment’s rest. I remember how hard it is to be a new mother, and I wanted to help. But slowly, my kindness became expected, as if it were an obligation. Emily and James carried on like I was their personal childcare service. They signed up for gym memberships, enrolled in evening classes, met friends for drinks, and dropped Charlotte at my doorstep with a breezy, “Can you watch her? We’ve got things to do.” Never once did they consider if I had plans of my own. I’m retired, and by God, I’ve earned the right to my own time and small joys!
Emily would ring me midday, announcing I had to fetch Charlotte from nursery because she had a work party, and James was off fishing. It infuriated me, but I still went—what else could I do? I adore my granddaughter, but this was suffocating me. I felt used, as if my time and wishes didn’t matter.
Then came the final straw. Emily called cheerfully to say she and James were jetting off to Spain for two weeks. At first, I was thrilled—thinking Charlotte would get sunshine and sand. But then came the kicker: they expected me to look after her, without even asking! They simply informed me, as though I had no choice in the matter. My blood boiled. I’d had enough. I told Emily plainly—I wasn’t their nanny. If they wanted a holiday, they could take Charlotte or make other arrangements.
I demanded to know why they’d made this decision without consulting me. Emily’s reply stunned me: “You’re retired—it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.” The words stung like a slap. I told her about my own plans—a long-overdue trip with my friend Margaret to the Lake District. They could either take Charlotte with them or figure it out themselves, but I wasn’t their servant!
The call ended in a shouting match. Emily called me a heartless grandmother, while I barely held back tears. She doesn’t understand how much it hurts, after all I’ve given them. I love my granddaughter, but I can’t sacrifice every shred of my own life for their convenience. I’m not a nanny. I’m not a servant. I’m a woman who deserves happiness too. Now, I’m left with a choice: stand my ground or cave in to keep the peace. But one thing’s certain—this can’t go on.
