When I found out I was pregnant, I felt both joy and fear. My husband and I had been trying for over a year, and when the test came back positive, I sat on the bathroom floor, holding it in my hands, tears streaming down my face.
I immediately imagined the milestones: the first cry, the first steps, the first birthday cake. But along with the joy came worry. We were both working full-time, and while our finances were stable, they weren’t luxurious. I kept asking myself: who would take care of the baby when I returned to work? Could I trust strangers?
I thought of my mother, Denise. At sixty-four, retired, living alone in a small apartment nearby, she had always been fiercely independent. Imagining her holding the baby gave me instant relief. Her gentle, warm memories filled my heart.
One evening, I asked over coffee: “Mom, would you be willing to take care of the baby when I go back to work?”
She paused for a long moment, staring into her mug. “That… is a big responsibility. I’ll need to think about it,” she finally said.
A week later, she called. “I’ll help,” she said cautiously, “but only if you pay me.” My heart sank. “Pay you?” I asked. “I’m not being greedy,” she added quickly, “but looking after a baby every day is full-time work. I have bills and can’t give my time for free.”
At first, I felt blindsided and disappointed. But after seeing the high costs of daycare and professional caregivers, I realized it was still cheaper to pay my mom and know the baby was in safe hands.
The first months were tense. Every morning, she arrived at eight sharp, fed the baby, soothed him, and sometimes tidied up. But the relationship felt formal, as if I were her employer rather than her daughter.
One evening, after a particularly exhausting week, I said, “Mom, I didn’t expect it to feel like this. I thought we’d be closer.” She looked at me with love and said, “I want to be here, but this is also work. My body isn’t as strong as it used to be, and I need to protect myself too.”
After that, we set clearer boundaries and breaks. I even added a small bonus to her payment. Slowly, the tension eased. She began sending me little photo updates of the baby, sang lullabies, told family stories.
I learned something important: love doesn’t have to be free to be real. My mom was setting boundaries and asking for acknowledgment. The more I accepted it, the more I respected her.
Over time, our arrangement became a true partnership. When people asked who took care of our baby, I proudly answered: “My mom. And yes, we pay her. Because she’s worth it.”