I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My husband was considering getting a DNA test on OUR son. That was unbelievable. “Are you serious right now?” I snapped. “You want to get a DNA test because your mother can’t keep her mouth shut?” “I’m just trying to find a solution!” David shot back. “I’m tired of her constant nagging too, you know.” Hope and Scott are fortunate to have their mothers’ help in raising Miles, their son. However, when the grandmothers begin to compete with each other, things turn ugly, and deep family secrets are revealed.
When Scott and I had our son, Miles, everyone told us how lucky we were to have both our mothers close by to help with the baby. “It’s a blessing, Hope,” my boss often reminded me. “You can leave Miles at home, guilt-free, knowing he’s in good hands. Plus, you and Scott can sneak in some date nights. You know, keep that spark alive and all that.” And honestly, she wasn’t wrong. Having my mom, Evelyn, and Scott’s mom, Thelma, around made it easier to catch our breath in those exhausting early months. For a while, everything felt perfect.
We had support, we had each other, and Miles was thriving. But then, like with most things that seem too good to last, it didn’t. The tension between our moms started off small.
As Miles grew, so did the subtle competition between Evelyn and Thelma. The jabs were small at first, disguised as playful banter. Thelma would bring over a carefully chosen organic onesie. A day later, my mother would show up with an entire set of designer baby clothes. Each grandmother vied for Miles’ attention, and by extension, ours. It was harmless at first, until it wasn’t.
“It’s almost ridiculous, Hope,” Scott said when we had a moment alone one night. “I know they love being grandmothers, but sometimes I think they’re just overdoing it.” “I agree. Did you see the latest outfit my mom got for Miles? That’s proper name-brand stuff, and this kid is going to what? Wear it for a month or two before he outgrows it?” “Should we put an end to it?” he asked, cutting me a slice of cheesecake.
Thelma, being widowed and with more time on her hands, naturally spent more time with Miles. This grated on my mom’s nerves, who had her hands full with my dad and my brother’s kids. Her frustration started bubbling up, and every visit turned into a passive-aggressive contest before long. “It’s not my fault I have other responsibilities,” Mom would huff when she found out Thelma had been with Miles for three straight days.
“I’m not blaming you,” I said, trying to calm her down. “Thelma was just helping out while I caught up on work. Maternity leave was a blessing, but catching up is giving me a run for my money, Mom.” Her responses were always sharp, with the edge of jealousy creeping into her voice. “I’m sure she was, Hope,” she would retort. “I’m sure Thelma loves being the hero.” I knew that things were spiraling, but I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until Scott came home one evening, his face pale and his usual calm replaced with confusion and anger.