I suggested my mum stay with us for a month after the baby was born, but she decided to move in for a yearand bring Dad along.
Three sleepless nights have left me hollow, my conscience gnawing at me like a starving beast. I feel torn, teetering on the edge of a cliff, caught between duty and fear. With my eighth month of pregnancy looming, my life is about to change forever. After marrying, I moved to my husbands home in Manchester, leaving my quiet village near York hundreds of miles behind. My parents stayed there, and visits are rarejust the occasional weekend here or there, barely enough to count on one hand.
During one of these visits, Mum and I sat in our tiny kitchen over cups of tea. She reminisced about how hard it was when I was bornhow exhausted she was, how shed wept from the strain, how only her own mother had pulled her back from despair. Her words struck deep. I pictured myself in her place, overwhelmed with a newborn, and before I could think, I blurted, Mum, why not come stay with us after the baby arrives? Just for a little while, to help me settle in? Her face lit up like Id handed her a second chance at lifebut then came the blow: Oh, your dad and I would love to stay a whole year! Well even rent out our place to help with your expenses.
I froze, as if doused in icy water. Her words rang in my ears like an alarm. I adore my dad, trulybut Id only meant Mum, and for a few weeks at most, not a year with both of them. Instantly, my mind filled with dread: Dad smoking out on the balcony, the stink of tobacco seeping inside. Fine when its just us, but with a baby? I couldnt bear the thought of those tiny lungs choking on smoke. And in winter? Hed let the freezing air in every time he stepped out. I could already picture my child coughing, feverish, while I panicked, helpless.
It didnt end there. Dad gets restless visitinghe either blasts old war films on the telly all day or drags my husband down to the pub till late. I dont mind him unwinding, but with a newborn, Ill need my husband here, not off on lads nights. The idea of a year filled with noise, smoke, and chaos made my chest tighten with dread.
I finally mustered the courage to say, Mum, I only meant you, and just for a monthnot longer. Her face darkened, eyes brimming with hurt. Then I wont come at all, she snapped. Its both of us or neither. She left me in heavy silence. Now I lie awake, staring into the dark, my heart shredded. Was I wrong? Too harsh? Should I have swallowed my fears for her sake? But how could I survive a year of that when the mere thought suffocates me?
My conscience whispers Im selfishthat she only wants to help. But my heart screams: I cant do it. I need to protect my child, my home, this fragile new life. I dont know whats right. Nights drag on as I listen to my husbands steady breathing, wondering: What if Im wrong? What if Mums right, and Im robbing her of this moment? Or am I right to guard my boundaries before they crumble under the weight of others expectations? The truth feels just out of reach, lost in the shadows of doubt.
Sometimes love means saying noeven to those who mean well.
