I Was a Stressed-Out Mom, But Now I'm a Kickass Grandma

Look, I loved my kids. I still do. But let’s be honest—parenting them was a chaotic, sleep-deprived, goldfish-cracker-covered rollercoaster ride, and I was just holding on for dear life. I did my best, but some days, my best meant hiding in the bathroom just to eat a snack without tiny hands grabbing at it like starving raccoons.

But now? Now I have a grandson. And suddenly, I am a freaking grandparenting goddess.

Grandma Me vs. Mom Me: A Study in Growth (and Less Yelling)

Back when I was raising my kids, life was a blur of school drop-offs, grocery store tantrums, and repeating, "Because I said so, that's why!" more times than I can count. I was busy keeping small humans alive, and I had zero time for the magical, whimsical, let’s-sit-on-the-floor-and-play-for-hours parenting fantasy.

Enter Grandma Me.

Now, I actually have time to enjoy being around a tiny person without worrying about all the logistics of keeping them alive 24/7. With my grandson Rudd, I get to do all the fun parts—cookies before dinner, ridiculous toys his parents hate, and zero concern for "screen time limits" (sorry, not sorry). And when he inevitably turns into a tiny gremlin from too much sugar? I hand him back.

The Wisdom That Comes With Age (and Naps)

When I was a young mom, I sweated everything. Is he eating enough vegetables? Am I raising a decent human? Will they end up in therapy because I forgot picture day at school (again)? The mental load of motherhood was crushing.

But now, I know better. I know that no kid ever grew up emotionally scarred because they ate mac and cheese three nights in a row. I know that perfect parenting is a scam and that the best thing you can give a kid is love, a little chaos, and a grandma who lets them stay up too late watching movies.

Grandma Privileges = The Ultimate Parenting Do-Over

Being a grandma is like getting a redo, but this time, I don’t have to be the bad guy. I get to be the one who sneaks in extra hugs, buys the obnoxious battery-powered toys, and lets Rudd stay up past bedtime because, honestly, what’s the worst that can happen? His parents will deal with the aftermath, and I’ll be home drinking wine.

So yeah, I might have been a stressed-out, imperfect mom, but now? Now I am crushing this grandma gig. And if spoiling Rudd just a little too much is wrong, well… I don’t want to be right.