My husband has a truly wonderful family. His parents have a daughter, but they’ve always treated me like one of their own.
My mother-in-law is an exceptionally wise woman. We’ve never had a single argument—not even a minor disagreement. She has a way of making gentle, tactful remarks that never upset me.
My husband’s sister, Emily, married years ago, yet we were the ones who first gave his parents grandchildren. Emily wanted to live for herself for a while—she wasn’t ready for children.
My in-laws adore our kids. They spoil them with gifts, always doing everything to make them happy.
But my mother-in-law often says to me:
“When will Emily finally give us grandchildren? She’s thirty now—it’s about time she started thinking about it.”
Then came the long-awaited joy: Emily got pregnant. Everyone was thrilled—even my little daughter, Poppy, was excited to meet her cousin.
But later, something happened that left me unsettled.
I took my son, Oliver, for a walk in Hyde Park when an acquaintance stopped me. We chatted, and she asked if Emily had had the baby yet. I said she was due any day.
Then she asked, “How do you feel about it? You know things will be different now. Your in-laws are about to have a grandchild who’ll feel more ‘real’ to them, don’t you think?”
I stared at her. “What do you mean, ‘real’ grandchild?”
“Well, think about it. You gave them grandchildren, but this one’s coming from their daughter—their flesh and blood.”
Her words struck me as absurd. Since when were a daughter’s children more “real” than a son’s? What kind of nonsense was that?
I’m sure nothing will change between me and my in-laws after Emily’s baby arrives. Still, that conversation left a strange weight in my chest.
Do some grandmothers really divide their grandchildren like that? Does it truly matter who gives birth to them—a son or a daughter?
