So, my daughter-in-law’s relaxing in the maternity ward while me and my husband are run ragged looking after the grandkids. Honestly, I think she checked into hospital early on purpose!
Our son says, “Mum, you can see how things are—you’re the only one who can help!” That’s sixty-year-old Margaret from Manchester for you. What else can I do? I help as much as I can, but I’m worn out…
Ten days ago, her daughter-in-law, Emily—nine months pregnant—started complaining of a fever, runny nose, and sore throat. A couple of days later, she lost her taste and smell. Margaret’s son, James, works all day on construction sites, so there was no one to watch the kids in this situation. So Emily, without much thought, checked into hospital “for monitoring.” And the two little ones—four and two years old—got dumped on Grandma and Grandpa.
I get it, health comes first, especially at 41 weeks… but why so long? Last time, she gave birth in a couple of hours—we barely made it to the hospital! Now? She’s been lying there for two weeks like it’s a spa holiday. Binge-watching telly, made her husband bring her laptop, says she’s “waiting for contractions.” Meanwhile, we’re here with the grandkids, ready to tear our hair out!
Margaret’s got that hurt tone in her voice. She’s not the whingeing type, but the exhaustion and frustration just keep building. Emily always used to leave the kids with her own mum. Now suddenly, the dad’s side grandparents are the “last resort.”
Me and William (her husband) aren’t getting any younger. I’m run off my feet from dawn till dusk—kids are wild. One’s still in nappies, the other screams if the spoon’s the wrong colour. Mealtimes are a battle, bath time’s a war, bedtime’s a full-on circus. They haven’t forgotten their mum—kept asking when she’s coming back. At this point, I’ve got no clue myself…
Margaret remembers when Emily did this last time—checked in early. Back then, there was just one kid, and they had to rush them over to a neighbour till Grandma could get there. An hour and a half later, boom—baby’s here. Quick as anything. And now? Pregnancy number three.
Six months ago, James announced another baby was coming. I said, “What, you trying to break records?” He just goes, “Mum, don’t worry, we’ve got it all planned out.” Yeah, right. “All planned” when things are fine. Soon as trouble hits—it’s “Mum, you’re the only one!” What am I supposed to do? Say no? But it’s killing me!
The older one used to go to nursery, but Emily pulled him out—said she didn’t want him getting sick before the birth. Margaret can’t drag him across town now, so they’re stuck indoors. And indoors? Chaos and shouting. Even when the kids finally shut up, she still hears their screeching in her head.
The little one can’t use a spoon—food everywhere. The older one whinges all day, they fight, they scrap. I look at them and think—how’s Emily gonna handle three? I can’t even survive two!
Evening comes, Grandad’s back from work, takes over with the kids, and Margaret cooks for the next day. Feeds, washes, cleans, and it’s only by 9 p.m. she can call her son.
“So, has she had the baby yet?” James just says, “Nope, same as before, just waiting.” They did a scan—it’s a girl, healthy. So what now? She’s gonna lie there another two weeks?
Margaret doesn’t hide her irritation. It’s not the pregnancy that bugs her—it’s how this whole thing’s been set up. Feels like Emily’s treating it like a holiday—lounging in hospital, chatting on forums, watching films, while home and kids are an afterthought.
I told my son, “Get her discharged! If she goes into labour at home, we’ll call an ambulance like everyone else.” His mate’s wife gave birth and was home the next day! My friend’s daughter had a quick delivery too. But us? It’s a whole bloody production!
“And what does James say?”
“What can he say? ‘Mum, hang in there, it’s nearly over, she can’t leave now.’” I said, “Let her sign herself out and come home!” But nope—no listening. I’m hanging on by a thread…
So who’s right here? The daughter-in-law who’s playing it safe with her health and checked in early? Or the mother-in-law, breaking her back covering someone else’s mum duties?
Hard to say. But one thing’s clear—Gran’s patience is hanging by a thread.
