I’m a queer parent – this is how to be a brilliant grandparent in a LGBTQ+ family

“I don’t know how to be a grandmother when there are two mums”. As a queer parent, this is hard to hear from your in-law. Why should it be any different? Well, for some, seeing their grandchild be parented by two equally involved, loving and competent mums leaves little space for them to be able to swoop in and help fill the gaps left by a 1950s-style hapless dad, as their grandmother did. Their own precedents and role models for grandparenting existed in a wildly different context. The most generous reading I can give this statement is: “What is my role as the grandmother when you both seem pretty good at mothering without me?” Queerness aside, maybe it’s easier to be a grandparent when your kid really needs your help and clearly asks for it. If both parents seem like they’ve got the hang of it, how can you still be supportive and pass down your wisdom and experience? And, in the age of parenting podcasts and online influencers, is it any wonder that a grandparent might feel like they’re just an unpaid babysitter, when they’d perhaps like a more meaningful role? But there is something specific here for LGBTQ+ parents. A grandparent might not ever have seen a queer family before. It may not look how they expect families to look and despite coming to a place of acceptance and openness about their child’s sexuality, despite loving their child’s partner as part of the family and having a jolly good time at their big gay wedding, seeing them with a baby is just, well… not easy. Shorts Thankfully, in the case of my own wider family, any initial uncertainty about “roles” evolved into them finding their way to being great grandparents, even if what that looks like isn’t quite what they’d always imagined. My own mum and dad have been supportive LGBTQ+ allies since I came out as a teenager. They were thrilled I was going to be a parent and expressed no sadness or issues with the fact I wasn’t carrying the baby myself. In a way, I think my mum was quite pleased my wife was pregnant, as it meant she didn’t need to worry so much about me. My parents are separated, and we have a blended, non-traditional family reshaped by divorce and bereavement, in that respect it’s already a little queer. The arrival of a baby was an event. That we were lesbian mums wasn’t. I’m so grateful for my parents’ support. One lesbian mum friend, Cathy, 42 from Manchester, told me: “We’ve been married 10 years with two kids and my dad still refers to my wife as my ‘friend’ to people.” For another, becoming grandparents was the thing that helped heal a relationship broken by homophobia: “Both of our parents had varying levels of difficulty accepting our sexuality but the grandchildren, I think, felt like something closer to normality,” Mika, 38, from London, tells me. In her book Grandparenting, psychotherapist Terri Apter writes that, “Like any long term, intimate relationship, cross generational bonds involve elemental passions – love, belonging and protectiveness, but also fear of loss, exclusion, lack of control, diminished authority and influence.” It’s complicated, or it can be, and queer parents often have to carry the emotional labour of helping other family members make sense of their non-traditional set up. We queer parents are not necessarily asking to be viewed as “the same” as every other heterosexual family, there aren’t comparable historic stereotypes for us to either embrace or reject as our straight parent friends might. We do things differently and maybe that’s what’s hard for our parents’ generation to get their heads around. My wife and I base our parenting roles on our skill-sets more than any expectations of what we “should” be doing because of our gender. With everything, we work it out as we go along, and I wonder if it’s hard for a traditionally “gendered” idea of what a granny or grandad’s role is to find a way into this new gender-agnostic parenting world. From speaking with other queer parents, it’s clear that instead of working with their queer children and adjusting to their way of doing things, some grandparents become defensive and fall back on limiting beliefs such as, “Well, they don’t seem to need my help,” or “It’s best I just keep my mouth shut”. Or they get in such a muddle before the child even arrives in the family, that it takes time and effort to make amends for things once said in a fog of heteronormative confusion. Lesbian mum Alice, 32, Belfast, says: “When my partner was pregnant, my mum kept asking when I’d have one of my own so she’d have a ‘real’ grandchild. I think it came out of fear of lack of connection and feeling like ‘less of a grandma’ but they were the strangest chats we’ve ever had.” She adds that since their daughter was born “there hasn’t been anymore of that nonsense because she loves our little girl, and the fact she isn’t genetically related to me means nothing when it comes to love”. I ask if her mother ever acknowledged that what she had said was hurtful, or apologised. But, as is often the case for queer people, the burden was on her to forgive and forget: “I was so cross but it was just left… And now she couldn’t adore our daughter any more. I’ve not raised it. I don’t think I ever will. It feels like it’s a relationship rocker that I’m not sure is worth the fight, maybe one day.” Florence, 40, originally from New York, told me: “My wife was brought up as a Mormon, so even though they have accepted me into their family, I was concerned about how they would accept our kids. We thought it would be best that my wife carried our first son and they are wonderful grandparents and have no issues. I carried our second son and they said some odd things during my pregnancy like, ‘Is this your parents’ first grandchild?’ But they love our second son just the same.” It’s unlikely that your queer child, whether they’re parenting with a partner, a friend or solo, doesn’t want a grandparent’s help. Speaking from experience: we need you. And if you’re unsure how you can be most supportive, just ask. OK, the shape of our queer family might take some getting used to, but a dirty nappy’s a dirty nappy. Among the stories of challenges that were shared with me, there were many examples of grandparents being brilliant. But even the best Nana and Pops have their moments, as Caro, 45, from Brighton, told me. “Mine were super excited when we told them I was pregnant (reciprocal IVF age 43). They both sobbed when my daughter was born, instantly adored her, and have ‘got it’ in that sense always. They adore her. I think sometimes my mum is a bit prickly about how much she looks like my mother-in-law (she is the spitting image) and can act a little jealous.” Meanwhile, Freya, AKA 31-year-old @thequeermama from Cheshire, shares a unique perspective: “Having two mums myself, I thought it would be simple when I got pregnant with my female partner – but my mum was actually very nervous for me to be gay and have kids. She still had a lot of internalised homophobia and that scared her.” The best, happiest grandparent/parent relationships are when the queerness of the family isn’t merely tolerated but celebrated. It’s fine to be curious and ask questions, share how different things were for you when you were a parent but still approach the newness, and difference of your queer child’s family dynamic with no judgement. I remember once, when our daughter was a few months old, my father-in-law passed my baby back to me saying, “Go to Lotte”, instead of “Mama”. Perhaps I was being over sensitive, but when I brought it up, the explanation was he thought some foster parents liked to use their first names with their children. I think it took him a while to get used to a new lexicon of parenting, and thankfully, both my in-laws have come a long way. As Apter writes: “Beyond the joy of welcoming a new person into the family lies a maze of shifting relationships with their own children and children-in-law.” Maybe it’s time we accepted that becoming a grandparent any which way, is a queer business in itself, and as queer parents, it’s on us to give our children’s grandparents a little grace along the way.