Am I a grandmother?

I think I’m a grandmother. Before the age of fifty, I’m a grandmother. I’ve taught my girls all their lives to wait until they’re in their thirties to get married, have kids, settle down. I’ve encouraged them to see the world, have experiences, live in different places, have different jobs, fall in and out of love many times before they can even begin to know who they are, what they want, and who they want to grow old with.

My formerly (and possibly currently) troubled daughter has a plan to get married next month to her now-fiancé and be the stepmother/mother to his two-year-old daughter. He now has custody of her and she’ll be with them most of the time. Most of this I learned second hand via my older daughter, who spent some time with them while home for a visit.

As I’ve fretted over before, she’s only nineteen and not equipped for such a responsibility. From what I understand (remember, I haven’t had the conversation with her), the plan is to have her work from home while he goes out and does landscaping. Of course, according to her, she still works at the job that doesn’t seem to have any record of her. I don’t even ask anymore because I won’t get a straight answer anyway.

Nevertheless, now it’s even more complicated.