The birth of my fourth child taught me that sometimes you have to recognize your value and speak up for yourself. Even though I had to pay for the class, I recognized that the alternative would have had much worse outcomes.
Lately, life has been excessively hectic. I gave birth to Dylan, a handsome boy, four months ago. He joined his three siblings, who are all under eight years old. Taking care of a baby and three other little children is, as you can guess, extremely demanding but also incredibly rewarding.
In my life, becoming a mother has held the greatest significance. With our first kid, Tray, on the way, my husband George and I talked about whether or not I should go back to work. At first, we decided that I would take a year off from work and then resume my profession. But when the time came, I understood that I wanted to be a mother full-time.
With the addition of each additional family member, our sense of deep obligation to our kids only grew. Dylan came last, Justin, our daughter Lily, Tray, and then Justin. Every new addition strengthened my resolve to devote myself to raising children.
However, Dylan’s birth caused things at home to shift. My mother-in-law began dropping by our home without warning. She was not coming to help around the house or with the kids.
After greeting everyone, she would vanish into the kitchen and help herself to whatever was available, leaving soiled dishes in her wake. This kept happening, and every time it did, my patience grew weaker.
One morning, following a particularly difficult doctor’s appointment where Dylan had just had his vaccines, things got out of hand. He was clingy, and I was barely getting any sleep.
All I wanted when we got home was a comforting cup of coffee. Dylan’s crib opened, and I heard the traditional greeting,
“Hi, dear! “when I eventually made my way to the kitchen.
I stopped by to see how everyone was doing.”
Dylan took some time to calm down, so when I went to the kitchen for my much-needed coffee, I found that not only was the pot empty, but I had run out of coffee filter. Unaware of my need, my mother-in-law slyly grabbed the final cup.
As I watched her drink that final sip, I was filled with annoyance. At that moment, Lily stormed into the kitchen, providing a momentary diversion from my building rage. She said, “Mom, can we watch Peppa Pig?”
I asked if her brothers wanted to watch as well, hiding my annoyance behind a grin and a nod. After she dashed gone, I turned back to my mother-in-law, who hurriedly departed after sensing the tension.
I informed George about the persistent problems when he got home and requested him to talk to his mother. He told her that she had crossed lines, but he didn’t talk to her about it. The unspoken tensions reached a breaking point that weekend.
Overwhelmed by the never-ending responsibilities of motherhood, I slept little that night and mustered up enough energy to prepare homemade pizzas with the kids.
They were excited about the project and couldn’t wait to consume their creations for supper. As dinnertime drew near, I put Dylan to bed for his nap, hoping for a quiet night’s sleep.
I was shocked to discover that the pizzas were gone when I went back to the kitchen. In the living room, George and his mother were casually savoring the rest of the slices.
I was so angry that I yelled at them to stop eating the kids’ meal and approached them. Their surprised expressions made me even more frustrated. George tried to comfort me, but I was too upset to hear him, and it was too late.
I withdrew to our bedroom, shut the door, and started crying. Was I the only one attempting this? How come they were unable to realize how much I was struggling? I was drawn out of my dejection by Lily’s gentle knock on the door. With innocent curiosity, she said, “Mommy, where is our pizza?”
That was when my determination really solidified. I had to take a stand for myself and my kids. I comforted Lily before going up against George and my mother-in-law once more. They tried to use their apparent concern for my weight as a justification for their behavior. The final straw was that.
“Leave, you two,” I said firmly and quietly. George stayed the night at his mother’s place after they left. I could really feel the relief when they were gone.
The kids and I ordered pizza, and as we were eating, I made my choice. I asked my sister to watch the kids the following morning while I filed for divorce. George found the divorce papers on the coffee table, where I had hidden them in an empty pizza box.
When I told my parents about the circumstance, they extended their unwavering support. I was able to concentrate on getting well and making plans for the future by staying with them. I quickly gathered my strength and got ready to face whatever was ahead of me.
I’m proud of myself now for defending my children’s and my own rights. I’ve taught kids the value of self-respect and making difficult choices in order to improve one’s future, as well as what strength looks like.
My children would have grown up believing it’s acceptable to not receive genuine love, support, or concern from people who claim to love you if I had not reached this conclusion. They now understand their value, and I’ll make sure they always remember it.
Lanie went through the same thing as me, but at least my husband didn’t make me wash the dishes after taking care of our newborn and leave me nothing to eat.
Five weeks after Lanie gave birth to her first child, her mother-in-law also completely upended her life. MIL established herself as a permanent presence in their home, and because she wasn’t actually present to assist Lanie and her husband in adjusting to their new role, things quickly fell apart.
