Oh, you wont believe thismy mother-in-law is driving me up the wall!
“So, any news on the baby front yet?” Lydia asked the second I picked up the phone.
“Nope, still not pregnant,” I sighed, rolling my eyes and trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Oh, for heavens sake!” she huffed. “You two need to get a move on. This is urgent! Ill send you a videovery educational.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks,” I muttered, already dreading another lecture on the best ways to conceive.
She hung up, and I started chopping cucumbers like theyd personally offended me.
Lydia had stopped even saying hello latelyjust straight to the baby talk. It wasnt always like this, though.
We used to get on fine. Shed call once or twice a week, visit even less. Sometimes shed ask for a lift with her shopping or a ride to her mums cottage, but in return, shed spoil us with homemade jam, grapes from her garden, cherrieslittle things.
Then everything changed. Because of Margaret, Lydias mum.
Even her own daughter joked that Margaret was a drill sergeant in a cardigan. A retired schoolteacher, strict as they come, she ruled the family with an iron fist. Luckily for me, by the time I got together with James, Margaret barely left her flatbad knees, poor health.
But once, just once, she came round. And that was enough.
“What on earth is this slop? Youd serve this to chickens, not people!” Margaret peered into the pot of soup simmering on the hob. “Move over, Ill show you how to do a proper fry-up.”
In my family, we made soup without frying the onions firsthealthier, fewer calories. James had a bit of a belly, nothing major, but I didnt want to make it worse.
“Margaret, really, its fine. It tastes good like this,” I said.
“Oh, you young people. Cant cook properly since Deliveroo came along,” she grumbled but sat down.
I thought that was the end of ituntil my mum called. I nipped into the other room to talk, and when I came back, onions were sizzling in the pan. I clenched my jaw.
“Honestly, why? We like it this way.”
“Youve just never had it done properly. Try it, youll change your mind,” she said, smug as anything.
I let it go. Couldve tipped the lot down the sink, but that felt too dramatic.
Then Margaret stuck her nose in from a distance.
At a family dinner, she announced, “Right, Ive decided. My entire estate goes to whoever gives me a great-grandchild first. I want to see the family line continue before I pop off.”
James told me, laughing. I just smiled. As if wed change our plans for her whims.
We had a timelinecareers first, then the house, then kids. Lydia used to support that, said there was no rush.
Now we were on step two, smashing the mortgage. One year left, by my calculations. A whole year where anything could happen. But to Lydia, suddenly, it was “only a year.”
“Sweetheart,” she cooed one day, “why not hurry things along? Youre planning kids anywaymight as well get the inheritance too.”
I nearly choked. Since when did she get to dictate when I had a baby? Even my own mum wouldnt dare.
“Lydia, weve still got the mortgage.”
“Oh, its just a year! By the time youre due, youll have sorted it.”
“Yeah, and in 2019, people thought the samethen the world went mad. No, were sticking to the plan.”
“Even if the mortgage falls through, youll have Grandmas flat! And the cottage. And her jewellerysolid gold, some of it. A proper little fortune.”
“Were not rushing. If it happens to line up, great. If not well, tough.”
“Suit yourself. Just looking out for you. James has two cousins, you knowtheyll beat you to it at this rate.”
And so it went. My patience wore thinner every time. I tried explaining, asking nicelynothing worked.
“Just humour her,” James said once. “Shell drop it.”
Easier said than done. Lydia took my lack of pushback as agreement and doubled downendless “expert” videos, photos of friends grandkids, scented candles “for romance.”
For my birthday, she turned up with a pram. “Youll need it soon anyway!” Nice pram, sure, but it felt like my body and future were being treated like some game show prize.
Every visit: “Well, Victorias marriage is on the rocks, and Katherines not having any luck, so youve still got a shot!”
Like we were contestants in some bizarre race. I bit my tonguefor family peace. Nearly snapped once and told Lydia to have the baby herself if she wanted one so badly.
Thensalvation.
“Katherines pregnant,” Lydia sighed down the phone.
I almost said “thank God” but caught myself.
“Still, no guarantees best hurry up, just in case,” she added.
“Just in case” never came. Katherine had the baby, and I thought that was ituntil Margaret called a family meeting.
“Now, Ive got plenty of family to look after me,” she said, eyeing us all. “Whoever does the best job gets the lot.”
Everyone froze. Katherines husband choked on his pie. Lydia perked right up.
“But you said itd go to us,” Katherine whispered.
“Did I? Oh, you think popping out a baby means youre owed something? Anyone thought about me? I can barely walk to the shops these days!”
I almost laughed. So much for “a kingdom for a grandchild.”
After that, the parade began. Aunts, uncles, Lydiaeven Katherine with the babyall suddenly at Margarets door, falling over themselves to “help.”
James and I sat this race out too. We just kept livingour jobs, our home, our quiet evenings. And that felt like winning. Because you can spend your whole life chasing the carrot, or you can just grow your own.
