Dear Diary,
Today the tension with my motherinlaw reached a new low. She kept muttering that youve become a strange woman, and Emily just snorted, Oh, mum says The memory of the recent fight surged back. How could Margaret keep harping on about Emilys rude retort after shed dredged up her own sad past for the umpteenth time?
Mrs. Hargreaves, could we change the subject? Emily asked politely but firmly.
Margaret, midmonologue about her two miscarriages, choked on the air and stared at us, bewildered.
I just want to support you, Emily, she said.
Thanks, but I dont need support from someone whose empathy is as thin as a wafer, Emily replied.
You call me stupid now? Margarets eyes welled up.
On any other day I would have tried to smooth things over, perhaps slipping out with an urgent work call or an invented meeting. Id have offered an excuse to escape Margarets endless lamentations about her tragic past, but grief is a strange beast, especially the kind that hijacks a body during pregnancy.
By the fifth month, Emily had transformed from a gentle, patient soul into a woman who rolls up her sleeves and demands answers. What should I call you, when youve already told me a hundred times you dont want to discuss your failed motherhood? she snapped.
I tried to lighten the mood with a reference to a friend of mine whos a highfunctioning autistic manhe can burst into an odd dance in a shop or miss a joke, but even he would agree that bringing up such topics with a pregnant woman is the height of idiocy.
So Im not only a baddie but also a idiot? Is that how you treat me, for the kindness Ive shown? Ive never heard a kind word from you, Emily shot back.
You could at least have a word to say! she shouted as she slammed the front door. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled, satisfied with herself.
I hoped shed give us a few weeks peace, maybe even forever. That hope proved futile; the morning argument with Margaret set off a chain of problems.
James, my husband and Margarets son, sat at dinner quiet and distant. I tried my usual chatter, but his replies were curt, his mind clearly elsewhere. When I asked what was wrong, he simply assured me everything was fine. I didnt connect his silence with the mornings spat; I assumed work or some other secret was weighing on him.
A few days later, James finally brought up something else entirely. Emily, have you heard of postpartum depression? It can affect pregnant women too, cant it? he asked.
Maybe, but I dont think Im depressed, I replied. If it helps you feel better, Ill see a psychiatristprovided you come with me and explain exactly why you think I might be suffering.
Just mum says youve become strange, he repeated, echoing Margarets words.
I told him bluntly, If anyone needs a specialist, its your mother. Do you know what she told me?
You think were constantly fighting, I said. She believes youre deliberately giving her a hard time with advice about hair masks and the wrong address for a parcel.
What are you on about now? I asked, genuinely confused by his vague comments.
James reminded me that a couple of weeks earlier his mum had bought the same hair mask Emily was using, and claimed Emily had recommended it. She used the mask and then accused me of steering her toward a bad one, while keeping the good one for herself, he explained.
Honestly, James, you have no clue about these womens gadgets, I retorted. If youd understood, youd have seen the catch.
In three minutes I managed to explain why, with my natural, untreated hair, I could never have suggested a mask meant for chemically treated tresses to Margaret, who constantly bleaches and perms her hair. The mask was simply unsuitable for someone who treats her hair like a chemistry experiment.
I even showed James the message thread where Id sent Margaret the correct address for a parcel she was to collect from a friend. There, I said, unlocking my phone and scrolling. See? I didnt mislead her.
He sighed. Sorry, I shouldnt have believed mum. She used to be reasonable. Why did you two argue again?
She started recounting her past tragedies again, I said, shaking my head. Four miscarriages, a lifetime of grief, and she keeps dragging that into every conversation, even when Im pregnant and cant bear more sorrow.
Jamess face went pale. You think she wants to? He didnt finish.
After a heated call with his mother, James returned home and declared that he would cut ties with her. I welcomed the decision; Margarets relentless, erratic behaviour had become unbearable, especially her attempts to smear me in front of James.
His relatives kept chastising him, saying hed abandoned his mother for a stranger. He scoffed, My childs mother isnt a stranger. If mums to blame for everything, then shes the one to answer to. He reminded them that guilt is assigned, not by blood but by actions.
Now the only question Im left with is why a mother would feel the need to drive her son apart from his pregnant wife. The answer seems obvious: a mother who cant share her son with another woman will try to keep him entirely to herself. Shes lost everything, and shes the cause of it.
The grandchild would be her only joy in old age, the relatives whined. She should at least get to see the baby. James snapped back, Bring your strong marriages into this, and see how they survive. He seemed to relish the backandforth, perhaps even regretting that the family now had no choice but to step aside.
In the end, James cut off contact with his mother completely, and with that, any assistance she might have offered. The silence allowed us to raise our son in peace. Were doing everything we can to keep that calm for as long as possible, hoping it will stretch throughout his early childhood.
When school starts, well teach him both conversation and how to respond to such clingy relatives. Emilys teeth, which didnt disappear after pregnancy, and Jamess unapologetic bluntness will serve us well. Modesty, after all, does little more than make you a walking joke.
Im grateful I recognised this early, before it was too late to shed the parasites that had latched onto us.
Lesson learned: protecting those you love sometimes means cutting away even blood ties that threaten the peace youve fought hard to build.
