I Refuse to Change My Grandkids’ Diapers—I’m a Grandma, Not a Free Babysitter

6 hours ago

When my DIL gave birth to twins last year, I was over the moon. Becoming a grandma was something I’d looked forward to for years. I imagined cuddling them, reading fairy tales, and sharing Sunday dinners filled with giggles.

I didn’t picture myself elbow-deep in dirty diapers, waking up at 3 a.m. to rock babies back to sleep, or being expected to show up three times a week like I was on some kind of schedule.

Hi Bright Side!

I’m Susan, 62 years old, recently retired, and finally ready to enjoy the slow, peaceful life I’d earned after raising three kids and working for decades. Or so I thought.

When my son, Jake, and his wife, Emma, became new parents, I wanted to be supportive. I knew life with newborn twins wouldn’t be easy. Initially, I helped as much as I could. I came over to do laundry and babysit several times a week. It was tiring, but I did it out of love.

But pretty soon, “helping” turned into full-on child care.

I’d walk in the door, and Emma wouldn’t even say hello. She’d just hand me one of the babies and say, “The other one needs changing.” Then she’d leave to nap, to run errands, or to meet friends. No one ever asked if I was free. It was just assumed.

Every time I tried to set boundaries, Emma would dismiss it: “You’re their grandma. This is what grandmothers do.” But I didn’t sign up for this. I already raised my own children. I didn’t retire just to start all over again. I love my granddaughters deeply, but love doesn’t mean running a daycare for free. I brought it up with Jake a couple of times, but he was always too busy or distracted to really hear me. And then came the moment that truly broke me.

My last straw.

One day at my book club, a friend leaned over and asked, “Are you really watching those babies every single day?” I was a little surprised. “Where did you hear that?”

She showed me a post Emma had made online. My blood boiled when I saw it. She had shared a humiliating photo of me, dozing off on the couch with both babies in my arms, a nappy on my shoulder, and spit-up on my clothes. The caption read:

“This is my built-in free babysitter. Couldn’t survive motherhood without her 💩❤️”

Not “wonderful grandma” or “amazing support system.” Just... free, convenient childcare. It wasn’t meant to hurt me, but it did. It made me feel unseen, unappreciated, and used. The poop emoji felt disrespectful.

I decided to choose myself.

That evening, I sat down with Emma and told her we needed to talk. I said, “I love you. I love the girls. But I’m not your nanny. I’m your mother-in-law. I’m a grandma—not unpaid help.” She was stunned. She said she thought I loved being there all the time. And I do enjoy spending time with the twins—but not like this, not out of obligation, and not at the cost of my own life and freedom.

I told her I’d still visit. I’d still be there to babysit occasionally—but on my terms. I wasn’t going to be changing diapers, cooking dinner, or staying overnight unless we agreed in advance. She didn’t take it well. She called me “selfish” and “mean.” But I stood firm.

I’d been saving money for a trip I always wanted to take. So instead of spending it on baby supplies or giving handouts to my son and daughter-in-law, I finally booked a solo vacation to Italy. It’s been nearly a month now. I haven’t replied to Emma’s messages asking for help.

Does that make me a bad mother-in-law? A bad grandma?