The Mother-in-Law Moves In, But Im Not Keeping Quiet
Six years ago, me and Oliver had pinched every penny to buy our own place, giving up almost everything in the process. Finally, we had a cosy little two-bed flatbright, snug, though a bit bare-bones on the decor. It was meant to be the start of a happy new chapter. Emily was expecting, the due date just days away. Everything was ready: bags packed, the babys corner set up, and only one last hurdle stood between us and parenthood.
Emily had always dreamed of a space of her own, free from parental meddlingespecially her mother-in-laws. Her relationship with Margaret was well, prickly. The woman loved to dictate how to live, breathe, even wash the dishes. One day, Emily had snapped and told her firmly she didnt need constant advice. Margaret had taken offence and vanished from their lives. For a while.
When Oliver drove Emily to the hospital, he had no idea what awaited him. The very next day after the birth, his mother called to announce she was coming to visit. He barely had time to object. Margaret arrived in full force, inspecting the flat like a drill sergeant: the hallway”acceptable,” the curtains”ghastly,” the kitchen”a gleaming nightmare! Polish it daily!” She rifled through the fridge, tutting at the shop-bought ravioli and declaring shed make soup tomorrow. Oliver tried joking, changing the subjectno luck. His mum threw on her activewear and marched off to survey the rest like a general.
That evening, he offered to drive her home. But she waved him off. “Ill stay the night. You shouldnt be alone in case Emily comes home tomorrow.” And stay she did. One night. Then another. Then another.
While Oliver was at work, she rearranged their things, sorted the laundry, decided where the changing table should go and what they *absolutely had* to buy. He was losing patience with her “help,” but didnt want to upset her. Then she dropped the bombshell: shed stay a few months to help with the baby. After all, theyd never manage alone.
When Emily came home, the whole family was waitingher parents, Oliver, and, of course, beaming Margaret. Emily knew instantly something was off. The curtains were different, the furniture moved, a strange smell lingering. Her parents left. Margaret didnt. Under Emilys silent stare, Oliver mumbled, “Mums staying a bit. To help.”
Exhausted from labour, Emily had no choice. And that very evening, hell began: “Youre holding the baby wrong,” “That swaddles a mess,” “Hes crying because you dont know how to rock him.” Emily bit her tongueuntil Margaret yanked the baby from her arms. That was it.
“Thanks for the help, but youre free to go,” she said, calm as a Sunday morning. “This is *my* child. And *Ill* be the one to rock him. Just me.”
Margaret rolled her eyes, deeply affronted. Oliver fumbled a protest, but one look from Emily silenced him. She was calm. Unshakable. This was *her* home. *Her* family.
Margaret packed her bags. She never came back. Oliver finally understood his wife needed support, not a commander-in-chief. And for the first time, Emily truly felt like the mistress of her own home. No matter how much time had passed since the birthwhat mattered was that she hadnt backed down.
