“Take your mum and go,” demanded the daughter-in-law at the maternity ward.
“Hello, Lucy love, how are you?” Margaret pressed the phone to her ear and perched on the edge of the bed. “Any contractions yet?”
“Mum, everythings fine for now,” Lucys voice sounded tired. “The doctor says its still early, but we should head to the hospital just in case.”
“Of course, of course! Ive already packed my bag. Is James coming from work?”
“Yeah, hes on his way. Mum, just try not to worry too much, alright? Itll be okay.”
Margaret smiled into the phone. Lucy always worried about others, even when she was the one who needed support.
“Alright, love. Well be there soon.”
She hung up and hurriedly got dressed. Her bag was already stuffed with oranges, biscuits, and a thermos of hot teaeverything needed for the long hours in hospital corridors.
James arrived half an hour later, flustered and restless.
“Mum, come on,” he said, helping her into the car. “Her contractions are every ten minutes now.”
“Easy, son,” Margaret patted his arm. “First babies take their time. Well make it.”
But she was just as nervous as he was. Lucy was petite, and the pregnancy had been roughconstant nausea, swollen ankles, her blood pressure all over the place. The doctors said it was normal, but a mothers heart never stops worrying.
At the hospital, a stern nurse in her fifties barely glanced up from her magazine.
“Whos in labour?”
“Her,” James said, steadying Lucy by the arm.
“Documents and maternity notes,” the nurse held out a hand. “Family waits in the corridor. No going upstairs.”
Lucy was led away, leaving Margaret and James in the crowded waiting areamen clutching flowers, women with bags, all wearing the same anxious expression.
“Mum, how long dyou think itll take?” James paced between rows of plastic chairs.
“No idea, love. Every womans different. You took eighteen hours.”
“Eighteen hours?” He went pale.
“Worth it though. Look at the strapping lad you turned out to be,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.
An hour passed, then another. James rang the ward every thirty minutes, but got the same answer: “Everythings fine, just wait.”
“Maybe you should go home?” Margaret suggested. “Change clothes, grab a bite. Ill stay here.”
“No, Mum, I cant. What if something happens?”
“Whats going to happen? Lucys strong, shell manage.”
But he wouldnt budgejust sat jiggling his leg, stepping outside for a smoke every half hour, returning with cheeks red from the cold.
By evening, a midwife appeared.
“Family of Davies?” she called into the corridor.
Margaret and James shot up.
“Yeah, us! How is she? Has she had the baby?”
“Not yet. Labours slow, contractions weak. Well induce.”
“Is that safe?” Margaret fretted.
“Standard procedure,” the midwife waved her off. “Lots of mums need it.”
She left them with fresh worries.
“Mum, what if she needs a C-section?” James resumed his pacing.
“If she does, theyll do it. The main thing is both mum and baby are healthy.”
That night, Margaret dozed in a chair, wrapped in her coat. James didnt sleepjust smoked and called the ward.
At dawn, the midwife returned.
“Well, Grandma and Grandpa, congratulations!” she beamed. “Youve got a little girlseven pounds four ounces.”
“And Lucy?” they chorused.
“All fine. Exhausted, but she did brilliantly. Just stitching her up now, then shell go to recovery.”
James hugged his mum, and they both criedrelief, exhaustion, joy.
“Grandma,” Margaret repeated, wiping her eyes. “Imagine that, Jamieyoure a dad!”
“And youre a grandma,” he grinned. “Our little girls here!”
They werent allowed upstairs until afternoon. Lucy lay pale but radiant, cradling a tiny bundle.
“Look at her,” she whispered.
Margaret leaned in, studying the pink, wrinkled face.
“Oh, my sweetheart,” she murmured. “Shes got your nose, Jamie.”
“Mum, come on,” Lucy laughed. “Shes barely a few hours old!”
“But I can see it. Your eyes, your nose. Right, Jamie?”
James stood frozen, afraid to touch her.
“Take her,” Lucy offered.
“Wont I break her? Shes so small.”
“You wont,” Lucy chuckled. “Youre her dad now.”
Gently, he lifted his daughter. She yawned, then dozed off.
“Whatll we call her?”
“We agreedEmily,” Lucy said.
“Emily,” Margaret echoed. “Lovely name.”
They stayed until evening, taking turns holding her, snapping photos, making plans. Margaret was already picturing prams and nursery colours.
“Lucy, maybe I should stay with you for a bit? Help with the baby.”
“Of course, Mum. Id feel better with you here.”
“Brilliant. Ill start on the nursery tomorrow. Jamie, the wallpapers too brightwell need to change it.”
“Mum, maybe not yet?” he said carefully. “Lucys not even home. Bit early for plans.”
“Why early? Shell be discharged in a week! No, wed best crack on.”
A nurse bustled in.
“Visiting hours are over.”
Margaret kissed Lucys forehead.
“Rest, love. Well be back tomorrow.”
At home, she was too exhilarated to sleep. A granddaughter! Little Emily, who shed love more than life itself.
Next morning, she hit the baby shopsonesies, booties, blankets, toys. Spent nearly her whole pension, but who cared? Nothing was too good for Emily.
James shook his head at the bags.
“Mum, why so much? Lucys parents will bring things too.”
“Let them. Shell use it all. Speaking ofwhere are they? Why werent they at the hospital?”
“Theyre away, remember? Three-week spa break.”
“Oh, right. Well, plenty of love to go round.”
Next day at the hospital, Lucy looked upset.
“Whats wrong?” Margaret asked.
“The doctor says Emily has jaundice. Not severe, but she cant go home yet.”
“Is it dangerous?” James paled.
“No, common in newborns. But shell need five more days here.”
“Dont fret,” Margaret soothed. “Shell be right as rain. Weve got brilliant doctors.”
Emily lay under a special lamp, tiny and vulnerable. Margaret couldnt stop staring.
“Lucy, are you breastfeeding?”
“Trying, but milks low. Were topping up with formula.”
“Thats alright, itll come. Just stay calmstress affects supply.”
“I know, Mum. Trying not to panic.”
Three other mums shared the room. One, Sarah, had become Lucys friend.
“Is that your mother-in-law?” she asked when Margaret stepped away.
“Yeah. Shes wonderfulso helpful.”
“Youre lucky,” Sarah sighed. “Mine just criticises. Says I hold the baby wrong, fold nappies wrong.”
Margaret overheard and warmed inside. So Lucy did appreciate her.
For days, Margaret arrived at dawn and left late. Brought home-cooked meals, fruit, magazines. Rocked Emily so Lucy could rest. James visited when work allowed.
“Mum, arent you exhausted? Coming every days a lot.”
“Dont be silly! Nothings too much for my girls.”
On day five, the doctor said the jaundice had cleareddischarge tomorrow. Margaret was over the moon.
“Lucy, Ive got everything ready at home. Cots assembled, sheets washed. Even bought a baby bath.”
“Thank you so much, Mum. I dont know what wed do without you.”
On discharge day, James took time off. They bundled Lucy and Emily into the car like royalty.
Home again, Margaret buzzed aboutwarming bottles, changing nappies, rocking Emily when she fussed.
“Mum, why dont you rest?” Lucy said. “I can manage.”
“Nonsense, love! Doctor said you need to recover. More lying down.”
Lucy obeyed, while Margaret cradled Emily.
“My precious girl,” she crooned. “So clever, not crying for Grandma.”
James watched them, smiling.
“Mum, youve come alive since Emily arrived.”
“Course I have! Shes my grandbaby, my darling.”
The first days were a blur of nappies and midnight feeds. Margaret took the nights so Lucy could sleep. Cooked, cleaned, laundered. Felt needed and happy.
But gradually, Lucy grew quieter, withdrawn.
“Lucy, are you alright?” Margaret asked one morning.
“Yeah, just tired.”
“But youre hardly doing anything! Im handling it all.”
“Thats why Im tired,” Lucy said softly.
Margaret didnt get it. How could resting be exhausting?
Tension peaked when Emily cried at night. Margaret got there first, scooping her up.
“Whats wrong, sweetheart? Hungry?”
But Lucy appeared, bleary-eyed.
“Mum, give her here. She needs breastfeeding.”
“Wouldnt formula be better? Your milks still low.”
“Mum, the doctor said breast is best. Please.”
Reluctantly, Margaret handed her over. Lucy settled in the nursing chair while Margaret hovered.
“Lucy, youre holding her wrong. Head higher.”
“Mum, this is how the nurse showed me.”
“But she looks uncomfortable. Let me adjust”
“No, Mum. Please.”
Lucys voice cracked. Finally, Margaret noticed.
“Lucy, why are you crying?”
“Im just I need to care for my baby. Youre doing everything.”
“But Im helping! Isnt that good?”
“Help is good. But when I cant even touch my own childthats not help.”
Margaret was baffled.
“Lucy, I only want whats best. For you to rest.”
“Mum, I need to learn. How can I, if you wont let me?”
James shuffled in, rubbing his eyes.
“Whats going on?”
“Talk to your mum,” Lucy said. “Explain.”
“Explain what?”
“Lucy thinks I help too much,” Margaret said stiffly.
“Mum, its not about quantity,” James said. “Shes right. She needs to find her way as a mum.”
“Oh, I see!” Margarets voice rose. “So Im in the way! Thought I was being kind, but noIm just a nuisance.”
“Mum, dont”
“No, its clear. The mother-in-laws outstayed her welcome.”
She locked herself in the guest room, crying into a pillow. After all shed doneand this was her thanks?
Next morning, Lucy knocked.
“Mum? Can we talk?”
“Come in.”
Lucy sat on the bed, Emily in her arms.
“I didnt mean to hurt you. Youve been amazing, and Im grateful.”
“Funny way of showing it.”
“I never said youre in the way. Just that I want to be involved.”
Silence.
“Mum, lets compromise. You handle housework; Ill do baby stuff. But Ill ask if Im stuck.”
“What if you mess up?”
“Mum, Im not helpless. The health visitor said I can call anytime.”
Margaret looked at Emily, peaceful in Lucys arms. Pink, healthy.
“Alright,” she sighed. “Well try.”
The new routine was hard at first. Lucy fed, bathed, changed nappies. Margaret cooked, cleaned, bit her tongue when she wanted to intervene.
But over time, Lucy grew confident.
One night, Emily wailed inconsolably. Lucy tried everythingrocking, singingbut the cries worsened.
“Let me try,” Margaret offered.
She cuddled Emily close, humming, rubbing her back. Slowly, the cries eased.
“How do you do that?” Lucy marvelled.
“Practice, love. James was colicky too. Learned every trick.”
“Teach me?”
And so Margaret didhow to hold her during cramps, which strokes soothed, how to massage her tummy.
Lucy listened, learned, improved.
“Mum, thank you,” she said one day. “Id be lost without you.”
“Youre doing brilliantly, love. It just takes time to read your baby.”
Balance found, they settledLucy in charge, Margaret supporting.
Weeks passed. Emily grew, smiled, thrived. Margaret adored her; Lucy blossomed as a mum.
James watched his harmonious family and grinned. His girls had figured it out.
Then Lucys parents visited, tanned from their holiday.
“Oh, shes gorgeous!” Lucys mum reached for Emily. “Let me hold her!”
Margaret stifled a pang. Two grandmas were normal, right?
They brought gifts, raved about the spa, cooed over Emilybut left after a few hours.
“Well pop by tomorrow,” Lucys mum said. “Must see our grandbaby!”
Once theyd gone, the house felt cosy again. Margaret thought: Other grandmas visit. I live here. This is my family now.
But the peace shattered next day when Lucys mum muttered, “Whys Margaret still here? A months enough. Young couples need space.”
Margarets heart clenched. So it wasnt just Lucy and Jameseven her in-laws wanted her gone.
That evening, she approached Lucy.
“Love, maybe its time I went home?”
Lucy looked stunned.
“Why? Because of what Mum said?”
“I heard her. And shes not wrong. You need time as a family.”
“Mum, but Im happier with you here. I need your advice.”
“What does James think? Maybe he wants privacy too?”
“I dont know. Lets ask him.”
Over dinner, Lucy broached it.
“James, your mums wondering if she should go home. Thoughts?”
He chewed slowly.
“Dunno. What do you think, Mum?”
“If Im needed, Ill stay. If Im in the way, Ill go.”
“Youre not in the way,” Lucy said quickly. “But my parents think”
“What do they think?” James frowned.
“That new parents need space.”
“Right,” he nodded. “And what do you think?”
“I think we still need help. Especially me. Im still learning.”
“Then Mum stays,” he decided. “At least till youre confident.”
Margaret exhaled. Not banished yet.
But Lucys parents kept needling. Every visit brought fresh hints: Time for the mother-in-law to leave.
“Lucys fine now,” her mum said. “Shell manage. Or shell never learn.”
Lucy defended her, but Margaret saw doubt creeping in.
Then one night, Emily screamed uncontrollably, feverish and limp.
“Call an ambulance!” Lucy panicked.
“Wait,” Margaret said, lifting Emily. “Could it be teething? Early, but possible.”
She checked Emilys gumsswollen.
“Definitely teeth. James got his at three months too.” She stroked Emilys head. “But lets call the doctor, just to be safe.”
The paediatrician confirmed itteething, no need to fret. Gave advice and left.
Lucy sagged with relief, looking at Margaret differentlynot as a meddler, but a lifeline.
“Mum, Im sorry,” she whispered. “You were right. Wed have fallen apart without you.”
Margaret smiled, squeezing her shoulder.
“Love, all that matters is Emilys alright. The rest is noise.”
That night, the three of them kept vigil by the cotthe new mum, the steadfast grandma, the weary but happy dad. Each understanding: Space could wait. Family started here, with a little girl whod bound them forever.
