I love my grandkids, but I’m not a free nanny. When my daughter asked me to babysit full-time while she returned to work, I agreed—thinking it was temporary. But weeks turned into months, and suddenly I was changing diapers, prepping meals, and managing tantrums without a break or a thank-you. I brought it up gently, suggesting compensation or at least a schedule. She scoffed, saying, “You’re family. You should want to help.” That’s when I realized they didn’t see me as a grandma—they saw me as free labor. So I stopped. I packed my things, kissed the kids, and left. Boundaries matter—even in love.
At first, I felt guilty. I missed the kids terribly. But I also felt relief. I wasn’t exhausted, overworked, or taken for granted. I had time to breathe, to read, to be myself again. I wasn’t just “Grandma the Babysitter.”
My daughter was furious. She said I was abandoning them. I reminded her that I raised my own children without expecting my parents to do it for me. I wasn’t abandoning anyone—I was reclaiming my time.
Eventually, she called to apologize. She admitted she’d assumed I’d just keep going. That I’d never say no. I told her love isn’t measured by sacrifice—it’s measured by respect. And I needed mine back.
Now, I help when I choose to. I babysit for date nights, not workweeks. I bring cookies, not calendars. And I leave when I’m tired, not when they’re done with me.
I’m still Grandma. I still love deeply. But I’ve learned that love without boundaries becomes burnout. And I refuse to burn out for anyone.
If you’re a grandparent reading this, know this: you’re allowed to say no. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to be more than a diaper-changing machine.
Because being Grandma should be a joy—not a job.
