My mother-in-law dreamed of having a grandchild for many years… Now she wants nothing to do with him
Jonathan and I have been together for nearly ten years. We got married for love—nobody pushed or pressured us. We met, fell in love, and eventually had a wedding. Everything was going smoothly, except for one thing—his mother, Margaret. From the very start of our marriage, she was insistent: “I need grandchildren, I want to dote on a little one!”
I was only twenty-six at the time. I had just started building my career, and Jonathan and I were living in a rented flat in Croydon, saving for a mortgage deposit, planning renovations, and considering job changes. A child just didn’t fit into the picture. I explained honestly to my mother-in-law: “Not now. We’re not ready yet.” But it was as if she didn’t hear me.
Margaret was offended, created drama, and accused me of ruining her son’s life by not giving him a real family. In her view, if a woman doesn’t have children, she’s worthless. I held my tongue for a long time, trying to keep the peace, but each month her persistence grew more aggressive. “You shouldn’t have married him if you don’t want children. He’d have been better off with that girl from university,” she’d say repeatedly.
Perhaps she’d have been more at ease if she had other children besides Jonathan. But he was her only son, and all her attention, unstable love, and pressure fell onto us. We bought a house, took on debt, and lived under the weight of mortgage payments, but that didn’t concern her. She demanded a grandchild. Immediately. Right then and there.
Then something else happened: one day, Jonathan’s cousin called him, quite surprised, to say that Margaret had come to see her—not just for tea, but with a request to transfer her property to her. Naturally, the cousin refused. Jonathan and I pretended we didn’t know about it and stayed silent on the matter. Just two months later, I found out I was pregnant.
The news was unexpected, but joyous. Jonathan and I hugged, even shed a few tears. Finally, our long-awaited baby was on the way. I thought, now everything would change. Margaret should be overjoyed. After all those years of urging, crying, shouting, and blaming, her life’s dream was coming true. We invited her over once we came back from the hospital with little Arthur in our arms. She didn’t come alone; she brought other relatives. I set the table and dressed Arthur up nicely.
Then I heard: “Well, you got scared into it and here’s the result. I had no other choice; you brought it on yourselves.” I felt sick. She said it in front of everyone, with a smirk. As if she had won. As if our child was not a symbol of love, but a product of her coercion.
From that day, something changed. She stopped calling. She showed no interest in how the baby was sleeping or eating, or if he was healthy. Occasionally, out of politeness, she’d ask Jonathan, “How’s Arthur? Not coughing, is he?” That’s it. No toys, no nappies, no cards on his first birthday. Just coldness and indifference. Yet she had sworn she’d be the best grandma ever.
I don’t understand how someone could plead and insist for years, only to turn away. My husband says this is her way of manipulating, that we’re to blame for allowing it. But I disagree. A mother, a grandmother, should not be that way. A grandson is not a pawn or a response to blackmail. He’s a person. A little, kind soul, with no fault of his own.
It pains me to watch my son grow up without the love of someone who so loudly proclaimed her “right to be a grandmother.” It hurts because I believed that someday we’d have a strong, happy family where both my mother and his would rock the crib together. But now, it’s just us, caring for him alone.
I don’t call or invite her over anymore. I’ve grown tired of waiting for warmth that isn’t there. I gave her a chance. She threw it away. And maybe it’s time I did the same.
