When my mother-in-law, Melissa, came over to help with my colicky baby while my husband was away, I hoped for a much-needed break. Instead, those few hours left me questioning her intentions, my instincts as a mother, and even my marriage.
Three months into motherhood, I was exhausted. Emily’s colic left me running on two-hour sleep intervals, my hair unbrushed, and my shirt perpetually decorated with spit-up stains. I didn’t feel like a mom; I felt like a failure pretending to be one.
Peter, my husband, called earlier that day with his usual optimism.
“How are my girls?” he asked cheerfully.
“We’re surviving,” I replied, bouncing Emily on my shoulder. “You’re lucky you’re on the road and not dealing with this little tyrant.”
He chuckled. “You’re doing great, babe. You just need a break. Mom said she could come over tomorrow. Let her help, okay?”
Melissa and I didn’t have a bad relationship, but she had a knack for making me feel inadequate. Still, the promise of an uninterrupted nap was too tempting to refuse.
“Fine,” I relented. “But not for too long.”
“Thanks, babe. She’ll even bring dinner. One less thing to worry about,” he said, always the problem-solver.
