Ryan (66): "I almost don't dare to say it out loud, but my partner's grandchildren are cuter"

I've had a new partner for a while: Garrett

Just getting used to that at my age is a challenge, but that's a different story. What I find much more difficult to admit, even to myself, is this: Garrett's grandchildren are more enjoyable than my own grandchildren. There, I've written it down. It feels uncomfortable. As if you're saying something that's not supposed to be said. But it is how I feel. It's a thought that keeps coming back more frequently. Especially after weekends when they've all been here. I notice it in how I feel when they leave. With one, I feel relieved, with the other, somewhat empty. I've tried to rationalize that difference away for a long time. But it keeps repeating. Garrett has two grandchildren: Joshua, who is nine, and Sandy, who is four. My own grandchildren are Emma, who is ten, and Derek, who is six. On paper, there's not much difference. They are close in age. In terms of abilities, too. But in terms of atmosphere, behavior, and how it feels when they are around, there's a world of difference to me.

My own grandchildren are… well-behaved

Emma and Derek are sweet children. I want to make that clear right away. They are polite. They say thank you properly. They clear their plates. They wait until they are allowed to take something. But it's precisely that which makes it feel so distant. They come in and say hello, but without a hug. At most a quick handshake, if that even happens. I should never expect them to spontaneously come sit on my lap. Everything with them goes according to rules. As if there's an invisible list they follow. They take that list everywhere. Even with me. It makes things predictable. And to be honest, also a bit boring. When they're with me, it seems like they're constantly feeling out what is and isn't allowed.

They ask for permission about everything

"May I take this?" "Is it okay if I sit there?" "When are we going home?" And that last question always comes up. Sometimes after just a few hours. Not cozy at all. They want to go back to their own home, their own room, their own things. They hardly ever stay over. And when they do, it's reluctantly. I notice that I always hold back a bit around them. As if I'm the guest instead of them. It's polite, but also stiff. And to be honest: I'm missing something. I miss spontaneity. I miss noise. I miss the feeling that someone really wants to be with me. That makes it difficult. Because I actually want to have that feeling.

I don't have that feeling at all with Joshua and Sandy

They don't just come in, they burst in. With coats half open, shoes kicked off somewhere, and stories that start before they're properly inside. They hug me right away. Just like that, without any warning. Sometimes both at once. Sandy always crawls into my lap. Joshua throws his arms around me and talks a mile a minute. It's busy. It's messy. Chaotic. But it feels alive. I don't need to direct or correct anything. It just happens. And I notice that it relaxes me. With them, it feels like I can truly be a grandmother.

One that you lean against

Where you can joke around, where you're allowed to eat lots of sweets. There's no filter on what they say. Joshua openly shares his thoughts about school, who he dislikes, and why. Sandy shouts out whatever comes to mind, unfiltered. They also stay over. Not because they have to, but because they enjoy it. Sleepovers? No problem. They even ask when they can come again. Holidays? They're definitely with us for a day or days. And nobody seems to mind. It feels natural. I don't have that feeling with my own grandchildren. And it's precisely this difference that I'm increasingly noticing. How sad it is.

The difference is in the smallest things

Joshua, who grabs a glass of juice without asking and then says: “Oh yes, I was allowed to do that, wasn’t I?” Sandy, who starts singing in the middle of the living room, loudly, without shame. They make a mess and laugh about it. They dare to be angry. They dare to be sad. Everything is allowed to be there. They don't have to hide anything. They don't constantly correct themselves. They are simply who they are. And that's contagious. With Emma and Dirk, it's different.

If something falls, they first look startled

As if they are waiting for a response. They whisper almost. They correct each other. "That's not allowed." "Act normal." It feels as if they are constantly watching themselves. And I notice that it makes me more cautious too. Joshua and Sandy, on the other hand, seem to be unaffected. They say what they think, do what they feel, and then move on. That makes it cozy. That makes me think after a weekend with them: this was fun. With Emma and Derek, I think that less often. Even though I don't really want to feel that way.

I feel guilty

Because yes, you're not really supposed to think this. Or at least not say it. They are my own grandchildren. You're supposed to automatically feel differently about them. But feelings can't be forced. I love Emma and Derek, but I enjoy Joshua and Sandy more. I can't deny that difference. I often try to put it into perspective. But the feeling remains the same. And that makes it difficult. Because I don't want to be a bad grandmother. Am I? Sometimes I wonder where it comes from. Whether it's upbringing. Or personality. Or maybe it's because I'm too caught up in the grandmother role with my own grandchildren, while I'm freer with Garrett's grandchildren. Perhaps because I feel less responsibility there. What I do know is that with Joshua and Sandy, I don't have to adjust. I'm just grandma Ryan. And that feels comfortable.

What I will never say out loud

This is not a story I tell my daughter. It stays here. In my head. And now out of my head. Because I know how this sounds. Harsh. Insensitive. As if I'm comparing and choosing. And maybe I am. I also know this would cause pain. I don't want to cause that. So I remain silent. But perhaps it doesn't say as much about who I love more. It says something about where I can be more myself. Where it feels like being together. And if I'm honest, sometimes I hope that Emma and Derek grow older and more relaxed. That they might storm in instead of knocking politely. That they linger instead of counting down the minutes until they can go home. I carry this uncomfortable feeling with me.

RYAN