“You’re not her motherI’m the grandmother,” declared her mother-in-law as she watched her feed the little girl.
“You’re not her motherI’m the grandmother!” snapped Margaret Dawson, stepping into the kitchen and seeing Elizabeth spooning porridge into little Emilys mouth.
Elizabeths hand stilled mid-air. Emily blinked up at her grandmother and stopped chewing.
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked quietly, keeping her voice steady for the childs sake.
“Only that a child should have proper food, not this mush,” Margaret retorted, eyeing the bowl critically. “A nice bit of roast and potatoes would do her good. Shes growing, after all.”
“Margaret, Emily is still young. The doctor said porridge is good for her at this age.”
“What doctor? That young fellow at the surgery?” Margaret scoffed. “What does he know? I raised three children, and all of them grew up strong. Youve only just had your first and already think you know better than me.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow warm. Emilys wide eyes darted between her mother and grandmother, sensing the tension.
“Mummy, I dont want porridge,” the little girl suddenly said, pushing the bowl away.
“See?” Margaret said triumphantly. “She says it herself. Let me make her a proper breakfast.”
Without waiting, she opened the pantry and began pulling out ingredients. Elizabeth sat motionless, the spoon still in her hand. She hated arguing in front of Emily, but she was weary of giving in.
“Margaret, perhaps she could finish the porridge? I made it with apple this morning”
“Apple in porridge?” Margaret interrupted, reaching for a frying pan. “Fruit should be served separately. Youre young, but reallysome of your ideas!”
Emily slipped off her chair and scampered to her grandmother.
“Nanny, what are you making?”
“Pancakes, my love. With jam. Remember how we made them last time?”
“Yes!” Emily clapped her hands. “Mummy, can I help Nanny?”
Elizabeth nodded, clearing away the half-eaten porridge. Every visit from Margaret felt like a trial. It was as if her mother-in-law refused to acknowledge that her son had a wife who knew how to care for her own child.
“Wheres my Robert?” Margaret asked, whisking batter. “Surely he didnt leave for work without saying goodbye?”
“He left early. You know hes on an important business trip.”
“Of course, of course. My son works himself to the bone. And what for? To provide for his family. Some dont appreciate that.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue. There was no reasoning with Margaret. She could twist any situation into a criticism.
“Nanny, can I flip the pancake?” Emily asked, climbing onto a stool.
“Of course, darling. But mind the heat.”
Elizabeth nearly protestedit was too soon for Emily to be near the stovebut Margaret cut in.
“Dont fret, Im watching. A girl should learn to cook. Or else shell grow up helpless.”
*Helpless.* The word stung. Elizabeth was no stranger to the kitchen, but Margaret always found faultthe soup too salty, the roast overdone, the salad improperly sliced.
“Mummy, look how golden the pancake is!” Emily beamed.
“Lovely, sweetheart,” Elizabeth smiled.
“And well smother it in jam,” Margaret added. “A real breakfast, not that dull porridge.”
Emily devoured the pancakes, her cheeks smeared with jam. Elizabeth watched, torn between relief that her daughter was eating and frustration that, once again, Margarets way was deemed superior.
“Margaret, perhaps we shouldnt give her so much sugar in the morning?” Elizabeth ventured.
“What harm is there? A child needs energy. Or would you rather she grew up thin and pale?”
“Of course not. But Ive read that too much sugar”
“Oh, you and your books!” Margaret waved a hand. “The internet is full of nonsense. I raised mine the proper way, and they turned out just fine.”
That familiar weight settled in Elizabeths chest. The same old danceher choices questioned, her care dismissed.
After breakfast, Emily ran off to play. Margaret insisted on washing up, though Elizabeth offered.
“Sit down, rest,” Margaret said. “Im used to keeping house, unlike young folk these days.”
“Margaret, why must you always act as though I dont know how to care for Emily?”
Margaret turned from the sink.
“Did I say that? I only mean you lack experience. Itll come in time. Until then, Ill help.”
“But I *am* Emilys mother. Shouldnt I decide what she eats, how shes raised?”
“Of course you should. But dont forgetIm her grandmother. And Ive more years behind me.”
Margaret dried her hands and sat across from Elizabeth.
“Listen, my dear, I dont want to quarrel. I only worry for Emily. Youre still green, mistakes happen. And childhood mistakes linger.”
“What mistakes?” Elizabeth sighed.
“All this porridge, for one. Or bundling her up too much. Yesterday was fine weather, yet you had her in a coat.”
“It was chilly.”
“Nonsense. Children must toughen up, not be coddled.”
Elizabeth exhaled. No matter what she did, it was wrong. Too warm, too cold. Porridgebad. Anything elsealso bad.
A whimper came from the nursery. They hurried in to find Emily clutching a broken doll.
“Whats wrong, darling?” Elizabeth knelt beside her.
“Dollys arm came off,” Emily sniffled.
“Dont fret, well mend her,” Elizabeth soothed.
“Or perhaps its time for a new one,” Margaret interjected. “This ones seen better days. Ill pop to the shops tomorrow.”
“Margaret, thats not necessary. Emily has plenty of toys.”
“Plenty? Barely a handful! The Johnson girl down the lane has three times as many.”
“Its not about quantity”
“Then what? A child needs stimulation. Or do you begrudge your own daughter?”
“I begrudge nothing!” Elizabeth snapped. “But I wont spoil her with endless toys.”
“Ah. And then you wonder why she prefers me.”
The words struck like a blow. Elizabeth glanced at Emily, who had already forgotten the doll and was watching them keenly.
“Nanny, will you really buy a new dolly?”
“Of course, poppet. The prettiest one we can find.”
Emily clapped in delight. Elizabeths chest tightened. Once again, she was the strict, joyless mother, while Margaret was the doting grandmother who showered treats.
“Mummy, why are you sad?” Emily suddenly asked.
“Im not sad, love. Just tired.”
“Ill kiss it better!” Emily planted a smack on her cheek.
“Thank you, darling. Much better.”
Margaret watched them with an odd expression.
“Well,” she said at last, “Id best be off. Things to do.”
“Nanny, stay!” Emily whined. “We can play!”
“Next time, poppet.”
Elizabeth saw her to the door.
“Margaret, cant we talk properly? I dont mind your help, but I need you to respect my choices.”
Margaret paused, hand on the latch.
“Elizabeth, you think I interfere. But understandEmily is my only grandchild. I want the best for her.”
“So do I. In my own way.”
“And your way isnt always right. Youll learn.”
“How can I, when you wont let me?”
Margaret frowned. “I dont hinder. I help. Theres a difference.”
After she left, the house felt too quiet. Elizabeth tried to busy herself, but her thoughts kept circling back.
That evening, Robert returned from work and took one look at her.
“Whats happened? Was Mother here?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The usual. Im the inadequate mother; shes the wise grandmother.”
Robert sighed, loosening his tie.
“Liz, must you take it so hard? She only worries.”
“She doesnt just worryshe undermines me. Every choice I make for Emily is wrong.”
“Oh, come now. Mothers set in her ways, thats all.”
“And I have my ways. *Im* Emilys mother, not her.”
“Of course you are. No one denies that.”
“Your mother does. Constantly.”
Robert rubbed his temples.
“Elizabeth, must we quarrel? Mother means well. She oversteps sometimes, but her hearts in the right place.”
“And that makes it all right? Dont you see how it feels when my own child prefers her to me?”
“Emily adores you.”
“She does. But with Margaret, its all fun and treats. No rules, just spoiling.”
Robert shrugged. “Whats the harm?”
Elizabeth stared at him, realising he didntor wouldn
