You take advantage of Gran. She looks after your child and wont even take mine for the weekend.
Sometimes life throws you a curveball and youve got to juggle faster than the average circus performer. Thats exactly what happened to me, Alice.
My son, Fred, is four now. No doubt hes absolutely perfect, at least to me. Mind you, his behaviour is questionablebut honestly, do well-behaved children even exist? I havent met any. Kids will be kids, and most of them could start a riot with a wooden spoon and a packet of crayons. And with baby number two on the way, things were feeling a tad chaotic, to say the least.
So there I am, heading off for a perfectly routine antenatal check-up, only for Dr Whittington to frown meaningfully and ship me straight off to St Agnes Hospital. Apparently there was reason for concern, and no time to dawdle about. That left me with a crucial dilemma: who could look after Fred while I was locked away on a ward?
My husband, George, was away in Hong Kong on very important business (translation: lots of meetings and suspicious amounts of golf) and wouldnt be back for ten days. Mum and Dad were both swamped at work and there wasnt a single other relative loitering in the vicinity. Enter Granny Ethel, who bravely volunteered for the Fred shift. Shes just turned seventy, and Fred moves like a squirrel whos just discovered the sugar bowl, so I honestly didnt know if wed all survive the week.
Heres what we agreed: Mum and Dad, devoted as always, would come by after work to take over grandparental duties, while Gran handled daylight hours solo. No one seemed worried except mewhich is, I admit, par for the course.
Ill be honest: I worried constantly. I mean, entrusting a tornado in human form to your elderly gran is not exactly the dream scenario. I rang Gran every hour, expecting disaster. But, bizarrely, Fred and Gran seemed to hit it off. They developed some secret language of biscuits and cartoons. By the end of the week, they were best mates. And when George finally waltzed home bearing duty-free chocolates, he took charge of Fred so Gran could finally put her feet up.
The weekend rolled around and thats when my sister, Jane, rang to accuse me of familial treachery. Her daughter, Rosie, is twoa sticky, adorable little thing. Jane confessed shed all but begged Gran to look after Rosie for a weekend break, but Gran had flatly refused, saying, Shes far too little for that sort of thing.
She was practically on bended knee, desperate for Gran to say yes. But Gran held firm.
Youre taking advantage of Gran! Jane huffed down the phone at me.
Listen, I explained: I was between a rock and a hard place (or, more accurately, between a hospital bed and a hyperactive child). I couldnt exactly take Fred to hospital with me, could I? And Jane, just for the record, you didnt volunteer to help, did you? You wanted Grandma to babysit so you could have a nice cuppa and a lie down. Theres a gaping difference there. And lets be realwould you leave a toddler with someone whos still getting to grips with WhatsApp? Stick her with Mum and Dad next time.
But no, apparently my parents dont want to look after her, so Jane has to do everything herself. (Join the club, love.)
In my humble opinion, Jane is entirely missing the point. A two-year-old and a four-year-old are worlds apart, especially if youre a pensioner. Would I pack Fred off to a relatives if I didnt absolutely have to? Not in a million years. But Jane is convinced Ive somehow exploited poor Gran. Siblings, eh? They never let you off the hook.
