"Mum, you’re home all day. Why wouldn’t you want to spend time with them?"
That was my son’s reasoning when he asked me to babysit my grandkids full-time.
 |
| For illustrative purposes only |
"I do want to spend time with them," I said. "But I can’t commit to being their full-time carer."
His face fell. "You don’t even have a job. What’s stopping you?"
I sighed. "My health, for one. I’m not as strong as I used to be. And your father works from home. It’s just not possible."
"We can’t afford childcare, Mum."
"I understand that. That’s why we’re willing to help pay for it."
He scoffed. "That’s not the same."
I knew he was upset, and I understood why. But what hurt was how quickly he forgot everything we had already done.
"Son, every time you’ve needed us, we’ve stepped up. We helped when you bought your house. When each of your kids was born, we covered a month’s expenses. We’ve been there."
"Then why not this?" he pressed.
 |
| For illustrative purposes only |
"Because this is different. This isn’t a one-time thing, it’s every day, with no end in sight. I know myself. I would say yes now, and six months down the line, I’d be exhausted, resentful, and no good to anyone."
"So that’s it? You’re just saying no?"
"I’m saying no to full-time care. But I’m not saying no to helping. We’ll babysit when we can. We’ll contribute to daycare. We’re still here for you."
"It’s not what I wanted," he admitted.
"I know," I said. "But it’s what I can give."
He left frustrated, and I won’t lie, it hurt. I spent the rest of the day questioning myself.
Was I being selfish?
But then I thought about the countless times we’d dropped everything for them. The nights I had rushed over when they called, exhausted, because the baby wouldn’t stop crying.
The weekends we had taken the kids last minute so they could have a break. The money we had quietly slipped into their bank account when they were struggling, without them even needing to ask. The times we had put off our own plans, our own rest, just to make sure they were okay.
I had done it gladly. Because I love them.
But this….this was too much.
A few days later, my son called.
"Mum… I’m sorry," he said. "I was stressed, and I wasn’t thinking about how much you already do for us."
 |
| For illustrative purposes only |
"I understand," I said.
"We’re looking into childcare now," he added. "And I do want the kids to have time with you—just not in a way that burns you out."
"That’s all I wanted," I said.
And I meant it.
Later that day, as I sat with a cup of tea, I realized something. I had spent so many years taking care of everyone else, I had almost forgotten to take care of myself.
For the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of relief. I wasn’t carrying the weight of expectations I couldn’t meet.
I could love my family, support them, and still protect my own well-being.
That weekend, my son brought the grandkids over for a visit—not because they needed to, but because they wanted to. I read stories to the little ones, laughed with them, and hugged them tightly as they left.
And I realized… this is what being a grandmother should feel like. Not an obligation, not exhaustion, but pure, simple joy.
Saying no didn’t mean shutting them out.
It meant making room for the kind of love that didn’t come at the cost of myself.
What would you have done in my place? Share in comments
(This story reflects one perspective and is shared to spark discussion and connection. While inspired by real situations, some details may have been altered for privacy and clarity).
Post a Comment