**Diary Entry A Grandmothers Joy and Trials**
“Take your mother and leave,” my daughter-in-law demanded in the maternity ward.
“Hello, Lucy, how are you?” I pressed the phone to my ear and perched on the edge of the bed. “Have the contractions started?”
“Mum, everythings fine for now,” Lucys voice sounded weary. “The doctor says its still early, but we should go to the hospital just in case.”
“Of course! Ive already packed my bag. Is Edward coming from work?”
“Yes, hes on his way. Mum, just try not to worry too much. Everything will be alright.”
I smiled into the receiver. Lucy always cared for others, even when she needed support herself.
“Alright, love. Well be there soon.”
I hung up and dressed quickly. My bag was already stuffed with oranges, biscuits, and a thermos of hot teaeverything one might need during a long wait in hospital corridors.
Edward arrived half an hour later, flustered and restless.
“Mum, hurry,” he said, helping me into the car. “Her contractions are ten minutes apart now.”
“Easy, son,” I patted his arm. “First labours arent quick. Well make it.”
But I was just as anxious as he was. Lucy was delicate, slight, and her pregnancy had been difficultconstant nausea, swollen feet, fluctuating blood pressure. The doctors insisted all was normal, but a mothers heart never rests.
At the hospital, a stern midwife in her fifties greeted us.
“Whos in labour?” she asked without looking up from her clipboard.
“Here she is,” Edward guided Lucy forward.
“Documents, medical records,” the midwife held out her hand. “Relatives wait in the corridor. No going upstairs.”
Lucy was led away, leaving Edward and me in the crowded lobbymen with bouquets, women with bags, all wearing the same worried expression.
“Mum, how long do you think itll take?” Edward paced between rows of plastic chairs.
“I dont know, love. Its different for everyone. With you, it was eighteen hours.”
“Eighteen hours?” He paled.
“It wasnt so bad. Look at the strapping lad you turned out to be,” I teased, trying to lift his spirits.
Hours passed. Edward called the nurses station every thirty minutes, but no updates camejust the same: “Everythings progressing, please wait.”
“You should go home,” I suggested. “Change, eat something. Ill stay.”
“No, Mum. What if something happens?”
“What could happen? Lucys strong. Shell manage.”
But he refused, jittery, stepping outside to smoke every half-hour, returning with wind-bitten cheeks.
By evening, a midwife appeared.
“Family of Harriet?” she called.
Edward and I leapt up. “Yes! How is she? Has she given birth?”
“Not yet. Slow dilation, weak contractions. Well induce.”
“Is that safe?” I fretted.
“Standard procedure,” the midwife waved me off. “Many mothers deliver this way.”
She left us with fresh worries.
“Mum, what if she needs a C-section?” Edward resumed pacing.
“If she does, theyll do it. The important thing is both mother and baby are healthy.”
That night, I dozed in a chair, wrapped in my coat. Edward didnt sleep, chain-smoking and calling the nurses.
At dawn, the midwife returned.
“Well, Grandad and Gran, congratulations!” she beamed. “A little girl, seven pounds two ounces.”
“And Lucy?” we chorused.
“Perfect. Exhausted, but she did brilliantly. Were just stitching her up, then shell be moved to recovery.”
Edward hugged me, and we both weptrelief, exhaustion, joy.
“Gran,” I whispered, wiping tears. “Imagine that, Edwardyoure a father!”
“And youre a grandmother,” he grinned. “Our little one is here!”
We were allowed upstairs by noon. Lucy lay pale but radiant, cradling a tiny bundle.
“Look at her,” she murmured, showing us our granddaughter.
I leaned in, studying the pink, wrinkled face.
“Oh, my precious,” I sighed. “She has your nose, Edward.”
“Mum, honestly,” Lucy laughed. “Shes only hours old.”
“But I can see it! Your eyes, your nose. Right, Edward?”
My son stood mesmerised, afraid to touch her.
“Hold her,” Lucy urged.
“What if I drop her? Shes so small.”
“You wont,” Lucy chuckled. “Youre her dad now.”
Edward took her gingerly. The baby yawned and dozed off.
“What shall we name her?” he asked.
“We agreedEmily,” Lucy said.
“Emily,” I repeated. “Lovely name.”
We stayed until evening, taking turns holding her, taking photos, making plans. I mentally picked out prams and cots, imagining walks in the park with my granddaughter.
“Lucy, should I stay with you for a while? Help with Emily. Ive done this before.”
She smiled. “Of course, Mum. Id feel better with you here.”
“Good. Ill start on the nursery tomorrow. Edward, the wallpapers too brightwe should change it.”
“Mum, maybe wait?” he said cautiously. “Lucys not even home yet.”
“Nonsense! Shell be discharged in a week. No time to waste.”
A nurse entered. “Visiting hours are over.”
I kissed Lucys forehead. “Rest, love. Well be back tomorrow.”
At home, I couldnt sleep, overwhelmed. A granddaughter! My little Emily, whom Id love more than life.
The next morning, I raided the baby storeonesies, booties, blankets, toys. I spent nearly my entire pension but didnt care. Nothing was too good for Emily.
Edward frowned at the bags. “Mum, why so much? Lucys parents will bring things too.”
“Let them. Emily will need it all. Speaking ofwhere are they? Why havent they visited?”
“Theyre on holiday. Remember? The spa retreat for three weeks.”
“Oh, right. Well, theres enough love to go around.”
The next day, Lucy seemed downcast.
“Whats wrong?” I asked.
“The doctor said Emily has jaundice. Mild, but she cant go home yet.”
“Is it dangerous?” Edward blanched.
“No, common in newborns. But shell need five more days here.”
“Its alright,” I soothed. “Shell recover. Weve excellent doctors.”
Emily lay under a special lamp, tiny and fragile. I couldnt stop staring.
“Lucy, are you breastfeeding?”
“Trying, but my milks low. Were supplementing with formula.”
“Thats normal. Itll come. Just dont stressit affects supply.”
“I know, Mum. Trying not to worry.”
Three other mothers shared the room. One, Sarah, had become Lucys friend.
“Is that your mother-in-law?” she asked when I stepped away.
“Yes. Shes wonderfulso helpful.”
“Youre lucky. Mine criticises everythinghow I hold the baby, fold nappies…”
“My mum gets it. Shes been through it.”
I overheard, warmth swelling in my chest. So, my efforts werent in vain.
For days, I arrived early and left latebringing home-cooked meals, fruit, magazines. Sitting with Emily so Lucy could rest. Edward visited when work allowed.
“Arent you tired, Mum?” Lucy asked. “Its exhausting, coming every day.”
“Dont be silly! Nothings too much for my girls.”
On day five, the doctor cleared Emily for discharge. I was overjoyed.
“Lucy, Ive prepared everythingcot, clean linens, a bath. Its all ready.”
“Thank you, Mum. I dont know what wed do without you.”
Discharge day, Edward took leave. We collected them ceremoniously, settling them into the car.
At home, I buzzed like a beewarming bottles, changing nappies, rocking Emily when she cried.
“Mum, why dont you rest?” Lucy offered. “I can manage.”
“Nonsense! You need to recover. Doctors orders.”
Lucy obeyed, while I took Emily.
“My precious,” I whispered, swaying. “So good for Granny.”
Edward watched, smiling. “Mum, youve come alive since Emily arrived.”
“Of course! My granddaughtermy heart.”
The first days passed in a blur. I woke for night feeds so Lucy could sleep. Cooked, cleaned, laundered. Felt needed. Happy.
But gradually, Lucy grew quiet, withdrawn.
“Are you feeling alright?” I asked one morning.
“Yes, Mum. Just tired.”
“But youre hardly doing anything! Im handling it all.”
“Thats why Im tired,” she said softly.
I didnt understand. How could rest exhaust her?
Tensions rose. Lucy wanted to bathe Emily, but I intervened.
“Why strain over the tub? Youll hurt your back. Ill do it.”
“But shes my child.”
“Of course. But Ive more experience.”
Lucy fell silent, but hurt flickered in her eyes.
The breaking point came when Emily cried at night. I rushed in first.
“Whats wrong, darling? Hungry?”
Lucy appeared, bleary-eyed. “Mum, give her to me. She needs breastfeeding.”
“Wouldnt formula be better? Your milks still low.”
“Mum, the doctor said breastfeedings vital. Please.”
Reluctantly, I handed Emily over. Lucy settled into the nursing chair. I hovered.
“Youre holding her wrong. Support her head higher.”
“Mum, this is how the nurse showed me.”
“But she looks uncomfortable. Let me adjust”
“No. Please.”
Tears edged Lucys voice. Finally, I noticed.
“Lucy, whats wrong? Youre crying?”
“Mum, Im exhausted. I want to care for my baby. But you wont let me.”
“But Im helping! Isnt that good?”
“Help is kind. But when I cant even touch my own childthats not help.”
Bewildered, I retreated. Didnt she see I meant well?
Edward woke to whispered arguing.
“Whats going on?”
“Talk to your mother,” Lucy pleaded. “Explain.”
“About what?”
“Lucy thinks I help too much,” I said stiffly.
“Mum, its not the amount,” Edward said. “Lucys right. She needs to learn.”
“So Im in the way! I thought I was helping, but noIm a nuisance.”
“Mum, dont”
“No, its clear. The mother-in-laws unwanted. Sorry for intruding.”
I locked myself in my room, weeping. After all Id donethis?
Next morning, Lucy knocked.
“Mum, may I come in?”
“Fine.”
She sat on my bed, Emily in her arms.
“I didnt mean to hurt you. Youve done so muchIm grateful.”
“Grateful? You said I suffocate you.”
“I said I want to be involved. Please, lets compromise. You handle chores; Ill care for Emily. If I need help, Ill ask.”
“And if you make mistakes?”
“Mum, Im not helpless. The paediatrician said I can call anytime.”
I looked at Emilypeaceful, healthy.
“Alright,” I conceded. “Well try.”
For days, Lucy took chargefeeding, bathing, nappies. I cooked, cleaned, bit my tongue when I ached to intervene.
One night, Emily wailed, inconsolable. Lucy rocked, sangnothing worked.
“Let me try,” I offered.
She handed her over. I cradled Emily, humming, rubbing her back. Slowly, she calmed.
“How do you do that?” Lucy marveled.
“Practice, love. Edward was colicky too. I learned every trick.”
“Teach me?”
Gladly, I sharedhow to hold, soothe, massage tiny tummies. Lucy listened, learned, improved.
“Thank you, Mum,” she said later. “Id be lost without you.”
“Youre doing wonderfully. It just takes time.”
Balance returned. Lucy led Emilys care; I advised when asked.
Weeks passed. Emily grew, smiled. I adored her; Lucy grew confident. Edward rejoicedhis women harmonised, his daughter flourished.
When Emily turned a month old, Lucys parents visited, tanned from their holiday.
“Oh, what a beauty!” her mother exclaimed, reaching for Emily.
I stifled a pang. Two grandmothersthat was fair.
They brought gifts, gushed over Emily, but left after a few hours.
“Well visit tomorrow,” Lucys mother said. “Must see our grandchild!”
Alone again, I relaxed. Other grandparents visited; I lived here. This was my home now.
But next day, whispers came.
“Why is Margaret still here?” Lucys mother murmured, thinking I couldnt hear.
“She helps us, Mum,” Lucy said.
“But its been a month. Surely you can manage alone? A young couple needs space.”
My heart clenched. So, I was unwanted by all.
That evening, I approached Lucy.
“Love, should I go home?”
She looked startled.
“Why? You heard Mumshe doesnt decide for us.”
“But maybe shes right. You need time as a family.”
“Mum, I feel safer with you here. I can always ask your advice.”
“What does Edward think? Does he want privacy?”
“I dont know. Lets ask him.”
Over dinner, Lucy raised it.
“Edward, your mum asked if she should go home. What do you think?”
He chewed thoughtfully.
“I dont know. Mum, what do you want?”
“If Im needed, Ill stay. If Im in the way, Ill leave.”
“Youre not in the way,” Lucy said quickly. “But my parents think”
“What do they think?” Edward frowned.
“That young couples need space.”
“I see,” he nodded. “And what do you want?”
“We need help. Especially me. Im still learning.”
“Then Mum stays,” he decided. “At least until youre confident.”
I exhaled. Not banished yet.
But Lucys parents kept pressuring. Each visit carried hints: “Time for Margaret to leave.”
“Lucys stronger now,” her mother said. “Shell manage. Or shell never learn.”
Lucy defended me, but doubt crept in.
One night, Emily screamed, feverish, limp.
“Call an ambulance!” Lucy panicked.
“Wait,” I said, lifting her. “Could it be teething? Early, but possible.”
I checked her gumsswollen.
“Teeth. Early, like Edwards at three months.” I stroked Emilys head. “But lets call the doctor, just in case.”
The paediatrician confirmed itteething, no serious fever. Gave advice, left.
Lucy sagged with relief, looking at me differentlynot as interference, but as a lifeline.
“Mum, forgive me,” she whispered. “You were right. Wed have been lost without you.”
I smiled, squeezing her shoulder.
“Love, all that matters is Emilys alright. The rest is nothing.”
That night, we sat together by Emilys cribnew mother, seasoned grandmother, weary but happy father. Each understanding: space could wait. Family began here, with a little girl whod bound us forever.
