The next day, I woke up feeling a mixture of disbelief and a twinge of frustration. I had tried so hard to be patient with Margaret, to be the kind of daughter-in-law who smiles and nods, who lets things slide because “family is family.” But I couldn’t ignore the overwhelming feeling of being sidelined. This was supposed to be a celebration of my baby — the one I was about to give birth to. Instead, it felt more like an homage to Margaret’s self-image as a grandmother.
The first few hours of the day, I kept replaying the event in my head. The way the guests whispered behind their glasses of punch about how “involved” Margaret was, and how she “just couldn’t wait to be the best grandma.” The more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I had been pushed aside. I wasn’t the one having the baby; I wasn’t the one whose body was carrying this little person.
I couldn’t stay mad, though. Not for long. After all, I had a baby to think about. But I knew something had to change. I wasn’t about to let Margaret turn every milestone of this journey into her personal victory lap.
That afternoon, I called my mom. She was the first person I could count on to understand.
“Mom, can I vent?” I asked as soon as she picked up.
“Of course, honey. What’s going on?”
“I just… I feel like the whole baby shower was about Margaret. There was nothing about me or the baby, just about her and her ‘grandmother status.’” I took a breath, realizing I might be sounding a little dramatic. “I don’t know, maybe I’m being unreasonable.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not being unreasonable,” she said, her voice reassuring. “I know exactly what you mean. It sounds like she’s trying to make this whole experience about herself instead of celebrating you and your baby. But you don’t have to let it be that way.”
I laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, it’s a little hard when she has everyone eating out of the palm of her hand.”
There was a pause on the other end before my mom spoke again, gently, “I know it’s tough. But you’re about to be a mother. You get to set the tone for what this next chapter of your life is going to look like. And maybe it’s time to have a conversation with Margaret.
I sat back, feeling the weight of her words. “Do you think she’ll even listen?”
“Sweetie, if she doesn’t, then maybe it’s time to set some boundaries. You don’t have to be rude, but you do have to take care of yourself. And sometimes, that means standing up for what you need.”