My husband and I are expecting our first child. The entire time, my mother-in-law has been referring to our unborn baby as “her baby.”
She insisted on throwing me a baby shower and inviting only her friends. I wasn’t thrilled, but I agreed reluctantly. My husband and I spent hours putting together our registry, and my MIL asked for it so she could share it with her friends.
But at the baby shower, I completely lost it. My husband shouted, “MOM! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” when she revealed the most bizarre, over-the-top nursery setup I had ever seen. It wasn’t just a gift—it was an entire statement.
A huge, custom-made crib in the shape of a castle, complete with a tiny chandelier and a banner that read, “Welcome to Grandma’s Kingdom.” Her friends gasped in excitement, but I stood there, frozen, clutching the edge of the table.
“Do you like it?” she asked, beaming. “I thought it would be perfect for my baby.”
That’s when I snapped. “Your baby?” I said, my voice shaking. “This is our baby. Mine and your son’s. Not yours.”
The room fell silent. My MIL’s smile faded, and my husband quickly stepped forward, trying to defuse the tension. “Mom, we appreciate the effort, but this is… a lot. We already have a nursery set up at home.”
She looked hurt, but before she could say anything, one of her friends chimed in. “Oh, come on, dear. She’s just excited to be a grandma. Don’t be so ungrateful.”
Ungrateful? My cheeks burned. I wanted to say more, but my husband gently squeezed my hand, silently asking me to let it go. So, I did. For the rest of the shower, I smiled, opened gifts, and thanked everyone, but inside, I was seething.
When we got home, my husband tried to reassure me. “She means well,” he said. “She’s just… overly enthusiastic.”
“Enthusiastic?” I shot back. “She’s acting like this is her child. She didn’t even consult us about the crib. What if it doesn’t meet safety standards? What if—”
“Hey,” he interrupted, pulling me into a hug. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. He was right. We were a team, and we’d handle it as a team. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.
A few weeks later, my MIL called to apologize. “I didn’t mean to overstep,” she said. “I just want to be involved.”
I appreciated the apology, but still felt uneasy. So when she offered to help us paint the nursery, I hesitated. “Are you sure?” I asked my husband later. “What if she tries to take over again?”
“We’ll set boundaries,” he said. “Clear ones.”
So, we agreed. She came over the next weekend with paint samples and an overly cheerful attitude. At first, everything went smoothly. We laughed, shared stories, and even agreed on a soft, calming shade of blue. But then, just as we were finishing up, she dropped a bombshell.
“Oh, by the way,” she said casually, “I signed up for a parenting class. I thought it would be helpful when I’m babysitting.”
I froze, paintbrush in hand. “Babysitting?”
“Well, of course,” she replied. “You’ll need help, especially in the beginning. I’ve already cleared my schedule for the first month.”
I looked at my husband, who seemed just as shocked as I was. “Mom,” he said slowly, “we haven’t even talked about that yet.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, waving her hand nonchalantly. “I’ve got it all planned out.”