I don’t know how it happened. I was just standing there and suddenly there was a shingle around my neck with the words Daycare Available, or at least that’s how my daughter sees it. “Why Mom,” she whined. “Why can’t you be like all the other Grandmothers and stay home to babysit while I work.”
I try, but I cannot help my daughter understand that I have a career and a life. I’m well aware that I am over fifty, but I’m also done with the duty of raising kids. I now want to enjoy having them over and handing them back. Minimize the spit-up on my cashmere and all that.
I’m not hating on those who decide to provide regular sitting services for their grandkids, but I choose not to set up my home as an unlicensed daycare. Yes I’ve safely stored items like medications and cleaning products, but I like my paintings, my books and my china teacups in sight, not playpens and potty seats. I also believe that my husband, the great and terrible Pappy, should be part of any babysitting decision that lasts more than four hours.
I love getting down on the floor for half hour marble sessions, jumping in mud puddles and supervising bubble baths, not because my granddaughter is dirty, but just for the fun of it.
At the end of the day, I want to be helpful to my own kids, but I pooh-pooh any intimation that my kid’s or their spouses work day is somehow more important than either of ours. I just hope that after this September, when in full time JK, I will not be waxing poetic about all the missed opportunities I had to babysit.
They grow up so fast 😛