“Youve grown so ugly, youre bound to have a daughter,” my mother-in-law would taunt.
When others complained about clashes with their in-laws, I never believed them. My husbands parents had always seemed finebut then, wed moved nearly 200 miles away almost immediately after the wedding.
I never had the chance to truly know my new “mother.” We stayed with them for a week after the reception, and back then, everything was civil. Then we left, my husbands military career taking us far from home.
For ten years, we built a life there. But then came the transferback to his hometown. The news hit me like a blow. Id settled in, made friends, been given a lovely house by the army. And now, expecting our third child, I had to uproot everything. There was no choice.
I gave birth in his hometown. A year later, I was pregnant againunplanned, unexpected, but wed always dreamed of a big family, so we embraced it. During the pregnancy, my “mother” came to “help.” She visited occasionally, but instead of assisting, she sat sipping tea, doling out unsolicited advice.
I brushed off her comments about housekeeping. But when she started lecturing me on raising my children, my blood boiled. How dare shea woman who barely knew me, who hadnt seen me in a decade, who only knew her grandchildren from photosdictate how I should parent?
Then, in my eighth month, she said it: “Youre definitely having a girl this time.”
Wed longed for a daughter after three sons. Smiling through gritted teeth, I asked, “What makes you say that?”
“Youve aged terribly,” she sneered. “Your face is swollen, your skins lost its glow. A girl steals her mothers beauty.”
“Thank you,” I replied coldly. “Ive carried every pregnancy the same way.”
“Not like this,” she shot back. “I had a son, and I was radiant. Everyone said so. But you? You look frightfulpuffy, bloated. Your feet wont even fit in slippers anymore.”
I said nothing. I didnt tell her it wasnt the babys genderit was my age. Thirty-nine, not nineteen like shed been when she had my husband. At nineteen, everyones a blooming rose.
She called me ugly so often, my husband finally silenced her. And in the end? We had another son.
