Chapter 3 - Our Baby, Her Rules
Daniel said the message was "just Mom being Mom." He said it twice, as if repetition could make it smaller.
I stood in our kitchen with my swollen wrist against a bag of frozen peas. "Tell me what you agreed."
"She wants to be there when the baby comes. I said we'd talk about it."
"We did talk about it. I said no."
"You said you didn't want her in the room. The waiting area is different."
"Not when she follows people through doors."
He leaned against the counter. "She's excited."
I almost laughed. Months before, I'd invited Linda to one ultrasound because Daniel couldn't get off work. She posted the picture before I'd called my own sister. At the anatomy scan she promised to wait in the lobby, then pushed into the exam room with a box of pastries. She hugged Daniel when we learned we were having a girl while I still lay under a paper sheet, cold gel drying on my skin.
Later came the crib at her house. The matching car seat. A suitcase parked in our guest room after I told Daniel I wanted privacy when I recovered. Each violation arrived dressed as a gift.
"She's not having our baby," I said. "I am."
"Nobody said she was."
"She did. Every time she says 'our daughter' and you look away."
That night I found a forwarded email in our shared household inbox. The subject read: VISITOR PREFERENCES FOR PARKER DELIVERY. It listed Linda as the primary support person. There was no reply from the hospital, only an automated confirmation that the message had been received.
I didn't accuse anyone of a forgery over an email. I called the clinic the next morning and asked to speak privately with Tasha. She checked my chart, confirmed that I had not given Linda access to my medical information, and helped me document my own choices. She also told me how to request that any unwanted visitors be turned away.
"You don't have to justify a boundary to receive care," she said.
After the call, I found Daniel folding tiny pajamas on the nursery rug. His shoulders looked exhausted. I wanted the kind man I'd married back. I wanted him to say he'd handled it.
Instead he asked, "Did you really tell the clinic my mom isn't welcome?"
May you like
Before I could answer, I heard our front door unlock. Linda stepped inside without knocking, carrying a measuring tape and a cardboard box.
"Good," she said brightly. "You're both home. I came to finish what we started."
