I never expected to receive an invoice from family. But there it was—a $3,360 bill from my mother-in-law for watching her own grandson.
After my week-long business trip, I returned to find Marsha’s accounting of every diaper change, every meal, every bedtime story. At $20/hour, she calculated her “services” down to the penny.
“You’re not a nanny,” I argued. “You’re his grandmother!”
Her response? “Then you should have hired someone.”
So I did something drastic. I paid her in full—and erased all grandmother privileges. Suddenly, “Nana” became “Miss Marsha.” No more spontaneous visits. No more family traditions. Just cold, hard professionalism.
The consequences shocked us both. Within weeks, Marsha was miserable. The money meant nothing compared to losing Liam’s hugs and our family’s warmth.
Her tearful apology came too late for her birthday celebration, but just in time to save our relationship. Now when she babysits, the only payment she accepts is sloppy toddler kisses and the joy of being called “Nana” again.
