We Pretend Were Not Home to Avoid Visits from the Grandchildren
I never thought Id say it out loud: I dont want the grandchildren to visit. Even Im ashamed of the thought. But every story has two sides, and perhaps, hearing ours, youll understand why my wife and I hide inside our own flat.
Im 67, and my wife, Margaret, is 65. We became grandparents youngour daughter, Emily, was barely 30 when she had her first child. Little Isabella was born, and it was like a rush of youth flooded back into us. We pushed her pram through Hyde Park, doted on her, bought her toys, spoiled her rotten. We were so happy we even joked, Were young grandparentswell enjoy every bit of it. Back then, it felt like a blessing.
Then came the second childanother girl, Charlotte. We loved her just the same, took them on weekends, helped where we could. Emily never had to ask; we insisted. We adore our children and grandchildren. But then came the third pregnancy twins. And suddenly, everything changed.
With the two boys, Oliver and Henry, our home turned to chaos. Weekends werent peaceful anymorethey were a full-blown nursery. Shouting, running, constant cryingendless mayhem. We grew weary. Not of loving them, but of exhaustion. Id had heart surgery, and Margarets doctor forbade her from lifting heavy things. Yet Emily seemed oblivious. Shed call to say, Were on our way, without asking if it suited us. Sometimes, theyd turn up unannounced, as if it were their right.
One day, spotting them approaching the door, I leaned close to Margaret and whispered, Lets pretend were out. She nodded silently. We switched off the lights, held our breath. They knocked, rang the bell, even tried their keysbut we hid like frightened children.
When they left, Margaret wept. Not from joyfrom bitterness. How did it come to this? she asked. And I had no answer.
We love our grandchildren, but were not a free nursery for the elderly. We want to live our days in peace, to sometimes be just the two of us, to read a book, to catch a show at the West End. Were not obliged to be full-time babysitters.
Emily was hurt when she realised wed been home all along. She called us selfish. But I askis it selfish to want a little quiet, a little respect for our time?
I write this not to justify myself. Only to remind: growing old isnt a sentence. Even grandparents deserve rest and boundaries. Loving our grandchildren doesnt mean letting them walk over us. It means caringwithout forgetting to care for ourselves.
