My daughter is the first and likely only grandchild of my mother. Because of this, my mother showers her with affection, often to the point of excess.
This past weekend exemplified this behavior perfectly. We were celebrating my mother’s birthday with dinner plans that included my sister and her husband, who are both older and childless. Despite it being her special day, my mother arrived bearing gifts—not just one, but four for her granddaughter. When our restaurant reservation was delayed, she even splurged on another toy from the store next door.
My daughter, fueled by excitement and hunger, was misbehaving in the restaurant. My husband and I found ourselves repeatedly reminding her about her manners and threatening to take away her toys. She continued to slide on the seat, whining and demanding chocolate milk and pasta.
Yet, my mother seemed unfazed by the chaos, which led me to question: who was this woman? If I had acted like this as a child, I would have faced serious consequences. Where was the mother who wielded her wooden spoon with authority, promising to discipline my sister and me if we didn’t behave?
The answer was clear: this was The Grandmother, not The Mother. Her role had shifted to one of relaxation, savoring her birthday and the antics of her granddaughter, while I was left to fulfill the role of the strict disciplinarian.
I’m perfectly fine with my mother not disciplining my child, but I didn’t anticipate the level of enabling that took place. After my daughter’s antics, I had to deny her dessert—not because I didn’t love her, but because I feared the sugar rush would only escalate her behavior. That was when Grandma intervened, assuring my daughter that she could share hers.
Sure enough, when the desserts arrived and my daughter started to cry for not having her own, Grandma swooped in, loading her plate with chocolate cake and ice cream. She even went so far as to spoon feed her the last large bite when my daughter seemed too weary to continue. Unfortunately, the bite was too big and ended up being spat into my hand, leaving her free to complain about her discomfort.
Moments later, she proclaimed, “My tummy hurts,” and laid her head down on the table, looking utterly miserable. Then, to my astonishment, the woman who had taught me manners and corrected my misbehavior began to rub my daughter’s back, as I watched in disbelief.
This contrast in behavior from my mother was jarring. It made me reflect on the evolution of her role from a strict parent to a doting grandparent. While I understand that every generation approaches parenting differently, it made me wonder how my own parenting methods might evolve in the future.
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In summary, witnessing my mother’s transformation into a doting grandmother made me reflect on the differences in parenting styles across generations, leaving me to confront the reality that the roles we play in family dynamics are ever-changing.