- I'm a mom of three adult children, and my daughter asked to move back in when she was pregnant.
- I was invited to the delivery room to see my granddaughter come into this world.
As a divorced mother who'd raised three children, it was great to come and go after my youngest started college. But when my daughter Lisa asked to move in while she was expecting her first baby, I was ecstatic. There was only one worry: Could two strong-willed women coexist under one roof?
My girl was no pushover. "I do it myself" was her toddler battle cry. Every squabble became a war, from refusing to leave a play date to cleaning her room. A perfectionist, she continued revising her college essay on deadline while a snowstorm raged outside. Shouts and tears ensued, and we trudged through knee-deep snow to get it postmarked.
I assumed she'd grow out of it. I was wrong. Even after she'd married, conversations spiraled out of control. Once, I blocked her number for hours to cool off, searching for what went wrong. The breakup with her dad when she was 8? Was I too bossy when pressuring her to practice the violin and do homework?
My mom was indifferent, so I didn't want to repeat that with my kids
My relationship with my mother was emotionally distant. She was a stay-at-home mom with a high-school diploma, and her passions were fashion, soap operas, and a small circle of neighborhood friends. I was a college-bound, left-leaning rebel who cared more for reading than TV. Mom barely looked at my report card and was indifferent about my career choices. I cannot remember her saying she loved me.
When Lisa was born, I showered her with hugs, books, and trips to the ballet. I wanted the mother-daughter relationship I never had.
In many ways, we had it. While Lisa enthusiastically balanced my checkbook online, I created an elaborate scrapbook of her prom keepsakes. We picnicked at Tanglewood, and when she landed a job in London, she planned a meticulous itinerary for my visit.
It was the day-to-day communication that undermined us. Phone calls were especially tense. As her move back to New York neared, I dreaded fireworks.
Her daughter brought us closer together
Instead, she invited me into the delivery room to welcome my first grandchild, Simone. My daughter, her partner, and their baby crowded into my home, working remotely for six months because of a delay in their move. There were laptops on every table, and laundry was stacked on the piano. The sink was rarely without a pile of dishes, but I had ready-made meals thanks to my son-in-law, who always cooked for everyone. We binge-watched Netflix, tiptoed during Zoom calls, and collaborated on shopping lists.
We hadn't spent this much time together since she was in preschool.
Each time I said "when you were a baby," Lisa ignored me. After I commented on the baby's app-driven sleep schedule, she tensed up. But instead of raising her voice, she calmly explained, "It really bothers me when you talk about her sleep. I know you want to help, but it's the way I feel." I agreed. It felt like signing a peace treaty. We established boundaries and learned to compromise.
One evening, I saw Lisa cradling Simone on the sofa, wiping away tears. I put an arm around her and confessed how, after she was born, I was 29 and couldn't tell Thursday from Sunday.
"You were about 2 months old," I told her. "I went for a walk by the Hudson River and felt like throwing myself in. But I knew I had to be here for you. I had to be strong for you."
"That's so beautiful," she said, and we hugged.
Simone is now 3, and my daughter urges me to listen to podcasts she downloads on parenting. Instead of a repudiation of the way she was raised, I see this as a chance for Lisa to make it better for her daughter, her turn as a parent to say, "I do it myself." And to show me a new way.