Ive barely slept for three nights. Guilts gnawing at me like a starving animal, leaving me no peace. Its like Im teetering on the edge of a cliff, torn between duty and my own fears. Im eight months pregnant, and my lifes about to change forever. After getting married, I moved to my husbands place in London, leaving my childhood home in a tiny village near Sheffield hundreds of miles behind. My parents still live there, and we barely see each otherjust the odd visit here and there, so rare I could count them on one hand.
The other day, during one of those visits, Mum and I were sipping tea in my little kitchen. She reminisced about how hard it was when I was bornhow exhausted she was, how shed cry from sheer overwhelm, and how only my nan saved her from total despair. It hit me right in the heart. I imagined myself in her shoes, helpless, clueless, with a newborn. And before I knew it, I blurted out, Mum, why dont you come stay with us after the babys born? Just for a bit, to help me out. Her eyes lit up like Id handed her a second chance at life. But then she dropped the bomb: Oh, your dad and I would *love* to move in for a year! Well even rent out our place to help you with the bills.
I froze, like Id been doused in icy water. Her words echoed in my head like an alarm bell. I adore my dadhe means the world to mebut Id only meant for *her* to come, and not for a *year*, just a few weeks, maybe a month, till I found my feet. And now thisa whole year, with Dad too! My mind flashed to him stepping out onto the balcony for a fag. When its just us, I ignore the smoke clinging to everything, but with a baby? I cant have my little one breathing that in. And in winter? Hell be flinging the balcony door open and shut, letting in freezing drafts. I can already picture my baby coughing, me panicking, not knowing how to shield them.
And thats not all. Dad gets bored when he visitseither blasting old films on the telly or dragging my husband down the pub till all hours. I dont mind him relaxing, but with a newborn, I need my husband *here*, not out on the lash with his father-in-law. The thought of a year of noise, smoke, and chaos made my stomach twist.
So I took a deep breath and said, Mum, I only meant you, and just for a month, max. Her face fell, eyes full of hurt. She snapped, I wont come without your dad. Its both of us or neither. Then she left, leaving me in crushing silence. Now Im lying here, staring into the dark, my heart in pieces. Did I do the right thing? Was I too harsh? Should I have just swallowed my fears for her sake? But how would I survive a year of that when just the *thought* makes me want to scream?
Guilt whispers that Im selfish, that Mum just wants to help. But my heart screams that I cant do itI need to protect my baby, my home, this new life. I dont know what to do. I lie awake listening to my husbands quiet breaths, wondering: *Am I wrong?* Is Mum rightam I robbing her of this moment? Or am *I* right, standing my ground before my boundaries crumble? Wheres the line? Im drowning in it, desperate for someone to throw me a lifeline.
