Over the past twenty years, I lived with my daughter and her husband, but I no longer have the strength to endure it.
I am sixty-five years old, and a grandmother to seven grandchildren. Naturally, many might envy meI myself would have called it a stroke of luck, had it not been for the near-constant charge of looking after them, or for the uproar I was forced to weather each day. My daughter seems almost oblivious to the number of children she has brought into this house
When my sixth granddaughter was born, I sat down with Emily for a serious conversation. I never imagined I would need to discuss contraception with my own thirty-five-year-old daughter. When she and her husband decided to have a seventh, the world started to spin about me. Our house has but five rooms, yet now nine people fill it with their lives.
Emily truly does not know how fortunate she is. My late husband and I worked every year of our lives to build a larger home and purchase our bit of land. Now, my son-in-law works that same land and calls himself a farmer. Emily labours by his side, and I find myself tethered to the kitchen from dawn till nightfall to feed what feels like an entire schoolroom. The children grow, their appetites with them and not one of them will deign to eat leftovers, only ever asking for something freshly made.
When the sixth granddaughter arrived, I hoped my daughter might see reason, or at least grant me a respite from the ceaseless cries and changing of nappies. But, yet again, everything tumbled in the wrong direction.
All the while, I kept in touch with my brother Arthur, who lives alone since his own daughter moved abroad.
One evening, Arthur rang to ask if Id come and stay, as his health was worrisome. Of course, I fretted for him, but in truth I also relished the chance to escape my endless routine. Now, Arthur is on the mend, but I am uncertain how I might return to that house after these restorative daysreturn to the clamour of children. These weeks with Arthur have reminded me how dearly I love reading, listening to music, and watching old films. At last, I can take pleasure in these later years, rather than waiting despairingly for my grandchildren to grow upbut I confess, I do not know how to tell my family any of this
Now Emily rings me near daily, insisting I come home, claiming she cannot cope without me. I am truly at a crossroadswhat should I do?
