I blame my son, really.
I mean, if he had been willing to exit the womb on time, most of this wouldn’t have been an issue. But instead, in what has turned out to be true to his character, he dawdled and took his sweet, ever-loving time before making his big debut.
My mother-in-law lived across the country and was determined to visit soon after the baby was born. Not being content to wait until after he was born to book her flight, she went ahead and planned to arrive a couple weeks after I was due.
It seemed reasonable to a stupid, clueless first-time expectant mom. But as the due date came and went, I began to have rising anxiety. I so wanted some precious time at home with my new family of three before my mother-in-law arrived, but it was beginning to seem as though that was unlikely to happen.
So, I arrived home from the hospital, two days postpartum, with a brand-new jaundiced baby who wouldn’t latch, a torn-up vagina, and a mother-in-law as a house guest.
To say it wasn’t optimal would be the understatement of the century.
I was stressed and sore and worried, and I wanted my mom more than anything but, to make matters worse, she was hardly there. Trying to respect the limited time my MIL had with us, my own sweet, nurturing mom took a step back during her stay.
Let me tell you, a mom and a mother-in-law are not at all the same thing.
My MIL was very uncomfortable with all things personal and TMI that come with having just birthed a baby. I remember distinctly trying to breastfeed with my well-intentioned-but-awkward MIL suggesting I use the nursing cover or go in a different room “where I could have privacy.”
Breastfeeding was tough for us and we (meaning me, my infant, my hubby, AND my MIL) had to visit the nursing specialist at the hospital three times that first week home. It was determined on one of those visits that my milk supply wasn’t even close to adequate to “de-jaundice” a newborn, so we were encouraged to supplement with formula.
Heartbroken and feeling like I’d somehow failed my child, we drove home from that visit while my MIL called her best friend back home and shared our “news.”
“Yes. They’re going to give him formula since he’s not getting enough milk.” (Pause) “I know! I’ve never heard of a mother not making enough milk for her baby!” (Pause) “I always had too much!”
I walked into our house and gave my baby a bottle which contained his first filling meal. Finally content, he immediately fell asleep, so I handed him off to my husband, told him I was going to take a shower, locked myself in the bathroom, and sobbed while the water ran.
All I wanted was my mom, so in that moment, I hated my mother-in-law.
I hated that, because of her, my mom had made herself scarce when I needed her most.
I hated that she thought helping us with food was taking us out to dinner every night with a 1-week-old baby.
I hated that she refused to shop or cook, and asked permission to get something out of our fridge.
I hated that she updated her friends and family about my failures as a mother.
I hated that she made me self-conscious about having a nip slip while trying to nurse my child.
I hated that she acted like a houseguest instead of a mother.
I hated the sight of her, the sound of her voice, and the words that came out of her mouth.
I realize now that much of those feelings were the result of an exhausting, hormonally imbalanced postpartum mom.
I understand that, while I still have a hard time getting over some of the things that were said and done during those few days, her intention was to support us. She just had a pretty awful way of showing it.
Years have passed, and our relationship is strong. I love her.
I guess I should thank her for helping grow a pair and learn to advocate for myself and my family — because you better bet that when I had my next child, she didn’t set foot in my home until I was good and ready.
