“I Don’t Want to Be a Mum! I Just Want My Freedom! — My Daughter Told Me” My daughter fell pregnant at fifteen and kept it secret for months. My husband and I only found out when she was five months along. Abortion was never an option. We never discovered who the father was. Our daughter said they’d been together just three months before breaking it off. She didn’t even know his exact age. “Maybe seventeen, maybe eighteen… maybe nineteen!” she’d say. Naturally, my husband and I were shocked by the news — our daughter was going to have a baby. We knew it would be challenging for the whole family. And on top of everything, our daughter kept insisting she wanted the baby, she wanted to be a mum. I knew she didn’t really understand what that meant yet. Four months later, she gave birth to a wonderful little boy: healthy and strong. But the birth was very hard, and she spent four months recovering. There’s no way she could have managed without me, so I quit my job and took care of her and my grandson. When she recovered, she didn’t want anything to do with the baby. She slept through the nights and wouldn’t look after him during the day. I did all I could — talking, pleading, explaining, even shouting at her to help me. That’s when she said: “You love him so much — why don’t you adopt him? I’ll be his sister. I don’t want to be a mum, I want to go out with my friends, go dancing, have fun!” I thought maybe she was suffering from postnatal depression, but it turned out she just didn’t love her baby at all. Eventually, my husband and I sorted out the legalities and were granted custody of our grandson. Our daughter became completely unruly. She wouldn’t listen. She’d disappear overnight, coming home in the early morning hours, paying no attention to her son. That’s how we lived for years. We thought nothing would ever change. Our grandson grew taller, learned to walk and talk, and became a cheerful little boy. He’s thrilled when our daughter comes home: he runs to her, hugs her, and tells her stories. And somehow, her heart melted. She finally became a loving mother, spending all her free time with her son — constantly hugging and kissing him. She often says: “I’m so lucky to have a son! He’s the most precious thing in my life! I wouldn’t give him to anyone!” Now, my husband and I are so grateful that peace has finally returned to our family.

I dont want to be a mum! I want to get out of this house! my daughter informed me, arms crossed with a dramatic flair.

My daughter fell pregnant at the age of fifteenhardly the age for settling down with a roast dinner every Sunday. She kept her secret longer than I dare say is healthy. My husband and I only found out when she reached her fifth monthwhen hiding it became about as effective as hiding an elephant under the rug. Of course, ending the pregnancy was never on the table.

To this day, the identity of the father remains shrouded in mystery. According to my daughter, theyd only seen each other for a few months and called it quits before she could even remember exactly how old he was.
Maybe seventeen, perhaps eighteen. Mightve even been nineteen shed reply, waving her hand as though swatting a fly.

Its fair to say both my husband and I were utterly floored. None of the parenting books prepare you for this sort of curveball. We realised life would never be quite the same, and to complicate things further, our daughter was adamant she wanted to be a mum. Shed wax lyrical about cradling babies and family portraits. I, however, knew she hadnt the foggiest what motherhood truly entailed.

Four months later, she gave birth to a marvellous little boyperfectly healthy, strong-lunged, and, for the first time in ages, I felt hope bubbling up inside me. The birth itself was no walk in Hyde Park, mind youmy daughter needed four months to fully recover. Naturally, she was in no state to manage on her own, so I bid farewell to my job and leapt headfirst into the full-time granny role.

Once she found her feet, though, she absolutely refused to go near the baby. At night, she snored away while I walked laps around his cot, and during the day she washed her hands of nappies and bottles. I tried every trick in the British parenting bookgentle chats, impassioned pleas, exasperated lectures (and the odd loud disagreement when my patience ran out). Finally, she threw her hands in the air:

You clearly love him, Mum. Why not just adopt him? Ill be his big sister. I dont want to be a mumI want to go out with my mates, hit the clubs, have a laugh! I want fun, not nappies!

For a time, I convinced myself it must be postnatal depression. But, in truth, my daughter simply held no fondness for her child. She wasnt cruel, just spectacularly uninterested.

In the end, we sorted the paperwork and my husband and I became the official guardians of our grandson. My daughter, meanwhile, became unpredictably recklessstaying out until sunrise and treating the house like a hotel. She had about as much interest in her son as a cat has in a bath.

Life carried on this way for a few years. Honestly, Id resigned myself to things never changing. Our grandson grew quicklyhe learned to toddle, chat, and took to life with infectious cheer. He became the sunshine in our somewhat stormy household.

Despite everything, he always glowed with happiness when my daughter returned homedashing up to hug her, chattering brightly. And, somewhere between all the noise and sticky kisses, my daughters heart finally melted. She transformed into a wonderful mother, the sort you see in feel-good adverts at Christmas.

Now she spends every spare minute with her little boy. She smothers him in kisses, scoops him up for cuddles, and often remarks, Im so lucky to have my son! Hes the best thing that ever happened to me! I wouldnt trade him for all the world!

My husband and I are positively delighted. At long last, theres a bit of peace in our familyand even the dog seems to approve.