I was 70 when I became a grandmother for the first time in 2023. My son Marlon had a son of his own, and while I had never been the kind of mother who was desperate to become a grandmother, I was delighted.

But it soon became clear I was entering uncharted waters. Very little about the way they entered into pregnancy and parenthood was the route I’d taken in my hippy-punk way. They were consciously well informed. I think I made it to two NCT classes. Lina – my son’s partner – had a birth doula. I’d read the one book, The Experience of Childbirth by Sheila Kitzinger, from 1962; they’d read a raft of parenting books like Philippa Perry’s recent The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read.

Then, when it came to the birth, I wasn’t able to be around. My partner (not my son’s father) and I had been planning a weekend festival in north Wales for the past year to celebrate his 80th birthday, my 70th, and our 10-year relationship. Santi, my grandson, was born in London while we were there. Lina and Marlon were very understanding about it, but I worried that missing this huge event messed up the beginning of my role as grandmother. I felt guilty that I wasn’t on hand for Marlon as Lina’s family were.

When I finally met my grandson, I was reminded that I’m not very good with tiny........

© The Guardian