Jenni Murray: why she feels lucky not to be a grandmother

One of my two sons has just turned 40, the other is 36. They both have lovely, well-educated, professional partners. They’re very busy, very happy and have stated they have no intention to reproduce. I’ve made no comment on this. I’ve never asked a question about their future plans. After all, it is none of my business. The decision about having children or not is up to them.

Where, then, does that leave me? I did at one time have a fantasy. In my fantasy, one of my two boys would give me a granddaughter.

I would be to her what my grandmother had been to me: loving, entertaining, generous, indulgent, full of information about nature, politics, music and drama and never the slightest bit strict.

Clearly it hasn’t happened and, given the increasing age of the two women involved, my fantasy has been abandoned; any dreams of ever being called Grandma have had to be set aside.

It’s been a disappointment that has caused me some pain. Six years ago, my best friend was unusually excited over dinner. She wasn’t meant to tell anyone. Her daughter was determined no one should know for a few more months. But, of course, she could trust me implicitly. She just had to tell me. She was going to be a grandmother.

Was I jealous? Yes. She soon would have an adorable little baby to show off. She’d be full of stories about how quickly the infant had learned to crawl and walk and say, ‘Nana’. Naturally, the baby was a girl. Just what I’d wanted.

I couldn’t ban my friend from blathering on about how wonderful her grandchild was. All I had to show off about was my dogs. But then I began to wonder if my jealousy was misplaced. In time, she began to reveal small irritations that were dampening her enthusiasm.

She’s in her 70s with a job she loves. Her daughter has a job too and thinks this is more important than her mum’s. Three days a week the baby’s at nursery; for two days someone has to look after her. Dad has a big job with long hours and the cost of the house they’ve bought means the price of a nanny is out of the question.

So who is left to babysit? Grandma, naturally.

She doesn’t seem to have so much time for a catch up. When we do meet for a quickie at our favourite restaurant, she is exhausted. I ask if she’s OK. Eventually, out it all comes. She’s sick of the relatively long drive to her daughter’s home.

Do I remember how long a day seems when your only company is a demanding infant who can’t hold a conversation? Do I recall how exhausting small children are? All that cooking, cleaning up, trying to keep them amused.

I have no advice to offer. It’s a long time since I had to keep two little boys entertained, clean and well fed. I suggest it might be a good idea to tell her daughter she has her own life and would quite like to be free to enjoy it. She’s done that, she tells me, but it’s fallen on deaf ears.

The only comments she gets are reminders that she must ensure she’s feeding the child in the way she’s been instructed and she’s not to allow her to spend hours watching Peppa Pig.

I’m beginning to think I’m rather lucky not having grandchildren with busy parents who appear to think granny’s sole purpose in life is to provide free childcare.

This rather surprising revelation is confirmed by another friend whose daughter has two small sons. She was asked to join the family for a three-week trip to Australia.

My friend was furious when her daughter said, "We’re so glad you’re coming. It’ll be marvellous to have you there as a babysitter." She gave her daughter short shrift.

"I’ll have you remember that I’m paying all the expenses for myself on this trip. I’ve asked you for nothing. It is my holiday too. Babysitting is work no matter how much you love the kids. Don’t you forget that."

I no longer feel the slightest bit jealous of my friends who have what I thought I wanted. I’m a contented elderly woman who has a lovely relationship with her sons and their partners. There’s no acrimony over how children should be raised. We don’t have to think about it.

I am not retired; I’m as busy with work as they are. I love to work and earn my own living. I always have. I was never – and I think my kids would confirm this – very good with small children.

I’ve always loved mine, but I didn’t really get to like them until they became independent and interesting. Not really grandmother material, I guess.