I Never Wanted to Be Grandma — Especially at 52

But after struggling in this new role, a transformative moment made it all make sense

Anonymous,

AARP

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Published September 17, 2025

a grandmother peeks in on a grandfather and young child playing with blocks

Monica Garwood

Welcome to Ethels Tell All, where the writers behind The Ethel newsletter share their personal stories related to the joys and challenges of aging. Come back Wednesday each week for the latest piece, exclusively on AARP Members Edition.

When my daughter Janelle, still in college, announced her pregnancy, my initial reaction was not one of joy but of fear and disappointment. I was terrified for her future, believing she was too young for motherhood.

The dreams she had of traveling and becoming a psychiatrist were suddenly altered by this unplanned pregnancy, and it was a difficult reality to accept. On the surface I remained supportive, but deep down I dreaded becoming a grandmother.

While all my friends raved about their grandbabies, at 52, I felt too young to fit the stereotypical image of a doting, elderly woman baking cookies with a grandchild. All the grandparents I knew were well into their 60s or older and thrilled to be involved with the caregiving of their grandchildren.

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However, seeing how it consumed their lives, I never wanted to be in their shoes. I never pushed my adult children into having kids, like some friends did.

I was an empty nester who enjoyed my peace and quiet. I’d already put my life on hold to raise four children and had zero interest in giving up my newfound independence. I was also still working and used my free time to travel. Being a hands-on grandmother was not a priority.

The first time I held my newborn granddaughter Charlotte in my arms, she was squirmy and fussy, likely sensing my discomfort. When it came time to help change her diaper or feed her, it was as if I’d forgotten all the rudimentary skills of early motherhood. It had been 16 years since I’d last done any of those things, and the awkwardness only fueled my feelings of inadequacy.

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Janelle’s disappointment was evident. She’d hoped for an involved grandmother who would love Charlotte as much as she did. I, too, hoped that the magical grandbaby bond that my other grandparent-friends described would occur, but it didn’t. Despite my husband’s seamless transition into grandparenthood, I found myself struggling with my identity as a grandparent. This internal conflict was something I kept to myself, even from my husband.

I often wondered if my reluctance to help with Charlotte was due to the early postpartum depression I suffered when I was a first-time mom, but at my age I also knew I didn’t have the patience or desire to deal with toddler energy. My other adult children helped their sister when they could and even tried guilting me into babysitting.

However, whenever Janelle visited, Charlotte would wail whenever she left the room and push me away. This only confirmed what I already suspected: I was not cut out to be a grandmother.

By the time Charlotte was almost 3, my daughter had moved back to town and was living nearby. She came by the house frequently with Charlotte but never asked me to babysit.

It wasn’t until Janelle received an invitation for a special girls’ weekend getaway that she asked me to watch Charlotte. I hesitated, imagining a chaotic weekend chasing a toddler around, but my husband quickly offered to help. Before I knew it, Charlotte was at our doorstep with a bag of toys and her Winnie the Pooh pajamas.

After dumping a box of crayons on the table, she asked me to draw something for her, so I drew a rose. Delighted with the bright pink flower, she hugged the drawing to her chest and asked for more. For an hour we sat together coloring at the dining room table and laughing at our silly illustrations.

Then Charlotte crawled up on my lap and snuggled against me. Suddenly I felt like the Grinch whose heart grew three sizes when he heard all of Whoville singing. She fit so perfectly in my arms, as if she were the missing piece of a puzzle I hadn’t been able to complete until that moment.

Her little gesture of love and trust washed away my doubts, reminding me of the transformative power of grandparenting. After that weekend, I babysat Charlotte frequently. She was my little sidekick on shopping trips and adventures to the park and the zoo.

Most of all, I looked forward to our weekend sleepovers when we built forts, watched Disney movies, danced together in the kitchen — and yes, baked cookies. How could I have believed that being a grandmother would make me feel older? It had the opposite effect — spending time with Charlotte made me feel like a young, energetic mother again, and I was thrilled to have a second chance to help raise a small child.

The joy and fulfillment I found in being a grandmother were beyond what I had ever imagined. When the next grandbaby arrived, I greeted him with the loving arms of a seasoned grandmother. Three more grandbabies followed, and now I find myself hoping there will be even more.

Of course, I still enjoy my quiet time at home and my weekend gatherings with friends, but I always save room on the calendar for a bit of grandma time. The key to finally accepting my identity as a grandmother came from doing what I thought I’d never want to do: spending one-on-one time with my first granddaughter. Charlotte’s unconditional love cracked open this Grinchy Grandma’s heart.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.

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