“I’m Not a Free Nanny or a Maid”: I Told My Daughter I Don’t Have to Babysit My Granddaughter—I Have Plans Too
It all started with the brightest of occasions—the birth of my granddaughter. Like any loving mother and grandmother, I threw myself into helping: staying up all night, pushing the pram through the park, ironing tiny babygros, blending homemade purees, and running baths. I thought it was my duty, my way of supporting my daughter and her family with all the warmth I could give. I remembered how exhausting those first months of motherhood could be—I’d been there myself, desperate for a helping hand.
But slowly, my help became expected. My daughter and son-in-law started treating me like free childcare on demand. At first, it was just “Mum, could you watch Emily for an hour?” Then it became evenings, then whole weekends. Before long, it was constant: “Mum, stay with Emily, we’ve got a gym class,” “Mum, you’re home anyway, can you pick her up from nursery?” “Mum, we’ve booked spin class—you’ll cover for us, right?”
And I did. Because, well, what else could I do? You can’t just leave a child at nursery. But then I realized my “just this once” help had turned into a full-time job. Their plans never included me—I was just the backup they assumed would always be there.
The final straw came last week. My daughter called to say they had a work do, and Emily couldn’t go to nursery because she had a little cough. Her husband, apparently, had already dashed off fishing with his mates, and she “couldn’t possibly skip the party—it’s networking!” I swallowed my frustration, packed my bag, and took Emily. Because, like it or not, she’s my granddaughter, and I love her. But inside, I was seething.
Then today—the moment that broke me. My daughter rang, giddy, announcing she and Tom were off to Spain. For two weeks. I said how lovely, and asked, “Are you taking Emily?” Her reply floored me: “Of course not. You’ll have her. We’ve already booked the flights—all-inclusive!”
No question. No “Would you mind?” Just an assumption. Because why would a retiree have plans? Grandmas don’t have lives—just tea, telly, and toddlers, right?
I took a deep breath and said, calmly but firmly, “Anna, I’m not your on-call nanny. I’m not your unpaid help. You’re adults with a child—that’s your responsibility. If you want a couples’ holiday, either take Emily or find someone else. I’ve got plans—my friend Margaret and I booked a spa break a month ago.”
Silence. Then came the meltdown. She shrieked that I was selfish, the “worst grandmother ever,” because “normal grandmas beg for time with their grandkids,” while I only cared about myself. And really, what else was I doing, just rotting in front of the telly?
But I’m done explaining. I helped out of love, not obligation. And when love turns into being taken for granted, you have to say no.
Yes, I’m retired. No, that doesn’t mean my life’s over. I’ve got plans, I get tired, and—shockingly—I’d like a say in how I spend my time. Why should I give up my own rest so they can jet off carefree?
I adore my granddaughter. But I won’t let love be an excuse to exploit me anymore. If that means a row with my daughter, so be it. Real family means respect—not treating me like a service.
I said no—for the first time in years. And you know what? It felt like lifting a weight off my shoulders. Because I’m not a nanny. Not a maid. I’m a mum. And I’m a woman who’s allowed her own life.
