Mom Reveals Unusual Reason She Doesn't Want Manipulative Mother-In-Law Near Her Baby
After an unbelievably difficult pregnancy, it was the last thing I wanted.
SDI Productions | Canva “She doesn’t want to upset you.”
My husband frowns as I roll my eyes, his statement a lie like so much of what he tells me. A nurse interrupts our conversation to tell me that the anesthesiologist is here to start my spinal block.
In a short while, I will meet my daughter after an unbelievably difficult pregnancy, and my husband is pressuring me into allowing his manipulative mother to visit.
He is calm as he explains the logic behind his request, but it’s all a lot of nonsense he thinks I need to hear so he can get his way. His way is his mother’s way.
The woman has been at the heart of so many of our marital troubles, and I don’t want her around as I spend time with my baby and her older brother, who is at school right now. If I don’t agree with this request, he might not bring my son to the hospital later to meet his little sister. He’ll pretend to have a headache or a job interview — any lie to manipulate me into giving in.
But I’m tired and bloated, and this baby is overdue. “Get out,” I growl, and he backs up a few steps, giving the nurse room to step closer.
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“Is there a problem here? Do you want some privacy for the block?”
As she asks me, she glances at my husband, who is wide-eyed, blinking quickly as he shrugs. This innocent expression of unawareness works on most people, but she wrinkles her nose at him and points to the door.
“You heard her. Go sit in the waiting room.”
As he leaves, I nod my thanks to her and consider what he is about to walk into. My parents are in the waiting area, and the three of them are not the closest of friends.
Whenever my husband complains that my parents don't like him, I have no trouble reminding him that his mother boycotted our wedding because she believes I’m not good enough for him.
I also add that he refuses to keep a job he doesn’t enjoy, an attitude his mother encourages, and he spends all my money on World of Warcraft expansions.
Now, when the nurse holds my shoulders tightly and I hunch over, following her instructions to stay still as the anesthesiologist spikes my spinal fluid, I wonder how in the world I’m going to manage once the baby and I are home.
“All set. Take it easy, and in no time you’ll have that baby in your arms.”
Once the anesthesiologist reassures me, he and the nurse leave, promising to return in ten minutes. I start to feel floaty and numb as if my body is about to drift away.
A children’s program runs on the television across the room, with puppets singing together in a way that sounds familiar.
My grandma taught toddler-me to sing and clap along to Miss Mary Mack when she kept me while my mother went grocery shopping, and when I was old enough to walk the quarter mile to her house alone, she welcomed my surprise visits by including me in her cooking and gardening endeavors.
The song the puppets sing isn’t Miss Mary Mack, and yet, it has brought these memories to mind, and I wonder what my grandma would say if I asked her about my mother-in-law’s potential visit.
My grandmother, more than anyone, was infuriated by my mother-in-law's behavior regarding my wedding, and she doesn’t think much of my husband, who she refers to as “the deadbeat,” even when he’s standing in front of her.
I need to make this decision on my own, without asking my grandma for help, I tell myself as I hum Miss Mary Mack. My grandma will be here after this baby, who I will name after her, arrives, because she has two important doctor visits today that she scheduled months ago. She would have canceled them both if I hadn’t threatened to name this child after her next-door neighbor, Ethel Rose Mae, if she did.
As I grow comfortably numb, I wonder if my mother-in-law will teach my Annabel to sing songs and play games, or if the three-hour driving distance between our homes that has made our relationship bearable will be an excuse for her to avoid facing me to spend time with her only grandchild.
Is she asking to come just for show, to be able to tell her family and friends that she made the trip like a good grandmother should? Does it matter?
A few hours later, when my son is bouncing on my hospital bed as he nibbles French fries from the cafeteria, I answer the phone on the table beside me. I have no idea who could be calling, not when my parents and my grandma are here, telling my boy to “take it easy” and to “be careful of your mom and sister.”
My husband went home because he is tired, but I suspect he has a World of Warcraft guild meeting he doesn’t want to miss. The other players would understand, I think, but he won’t give up his game just because he became a father this afternoon. “Hello?”
Annabel is asleep in my arms, her chin sticky with milk. My dad looks away so he’s not staring at my bare chest, but I’m worn out and beyond any attempt at modesty.
My mother-in-law is on the other end of the line, her voice simperingly sweet.
I watch my grandma as she teases my son with a French fry, waving it in front of his face as if she’s going to feed him before taking a bite herself. He’s laughing so hard I think he will fall off the bed, and I’m smiling as I speak, unsure if I’m making the right decision.
The next morning, I’m sitting by the window and describing the leaves falling from the trees to Annabel, who rests against my shoulder, when someone knocks on my open door. “Thank you for letting me come, Maisie.”
My mother-in-law’s syrupy tone is gone, and she kneels on the cold, hard floor beside me as she touches her granddaughter’s damp head. I tighten the blanket around my baby’s warm body, and when her grandmother stands, I offer her up so my mother-in-law can take her in her arms.
I haven’t seen my mother-in-law in two decades, but my daughter spends a week every year with her, as she has since she was a little girl.
Her grandmother pays for Annabel’s plane ticket, and the two of them catch up over a quiet, restful few days, during which they might visit local vendors at the shops in her grandmother’s small Appalachian town, or wade in the cold lake near her house.
Annabel makes sure to choose dates that do not coincide with her father’s visits because she says he needs “too much attention” and he causes his mother “too much stress.” While he makes fun of his mother’s New Age interests and careful eating habits, my daughter asks her grandmother to explain how she chooses to live her life and is interested in who she is as a person.
Now in her twenties, my daughter is well aware of the difficulties her grandmother caused, and I’ve been honest about my part in the downfall of my relationship with her father. But I don’t resent the time she spends with my former mother-in-law, and I don’t regret inviting the woman who made her dislike of me a public statement years ago into my daughter’s life.
My daughter always texts me photos of the two of them together, an elderly woman who looks harmless and small with her arms around my tall, beautiful girl.
They are happy together, and I will never be sorry to see them so.
Maisie Archer is a writer of fiction, poetry, and personal essays about relationships, grief, parenting, mental health and more on Medium.