To teach them boundaries and about feelings and all the things. You had your turn to set the rules for your children. I’ll make sure my children are comfortable being human thanks. “You have to stop crying, or else I won’t give you this toy! You can’t cry!” (Uh, yes, she can cry. Come on!” Please don’t force yourself on my child when she’s uncomfortable with your pushiness as it is. I teach them to listen to their bodies and stop when satisfied. You have to!” FYI, MIL, I don’t force my children to eat things they don’t want. I Remember the Many Times You Told My Daughter What She “Had” to Do You had your turn to make memories and create family traditions in the magical, young years of your children’s lives. Perhaps at our own church or wherever, as our own family. Not stopping to ask what I thought about that prospect, nor to consider the possibility of my family wanting to build our own traditions. You’d finally, once again, have someone to take with you to have Easter baskets blessed at your church every Holy Saturday, you said. I Remember Your Boasts About Continuing Your Long-Gone Holiday Traditions with My Child You had your turn to plan milestone events for your children. I had no words that day, and to this day, I still have none. I still remember you yelling out, “Nobody told me about this!” in the otherwise blissful quiet of the reverent occasion. When her baptism was a surprise for everyone but her godparents the following summer, I imagine you weren’t pleased to see we had dressed her with a delicate baby’s breath crown instead. That she would “also have to use” as a converted handkerchief for her wedding one day because your daughter had one just like it. I Remember the Presumptuous Gift You Gave Me Before My Daughter Was BornĪ baptismal cap. You had your turn to make the best decisions possible for your family. If you can’t be happy with my family’s best-case scenario playing out right before your eyes, please keep your unsolicited desires to yourself. This is what I’m called to do, at least for the foreseeable future. Over and over, and awkwardly, in front of a room full of your extended family, you cheekily told me you’d “babysit” so I could “go back to work.” Even after being assured that it was (and still is) my dream to be home with my children. I Remember How You Tried Convincing Me to Go Back to Work, Knowing My Plans to Stay Home You had your turn to call the shots for your labor and delivery experience. So, no, you won’t be in attendance for any of my children’s arrivals. You’ve never so much as tried to get to know me on a sincere level. It’s the most vulnerable, personal, intimate moment of a mom’s life. You know what, though? Birth isn’t a spectator sport. You tried guilting me into saying yes by telling me about your random co-worker’s attendance for her grandchild’s birth. I Remember How You Begged to Be Allowed into My Labor and Delivery Room You had your turn to be the parent and name your babies. That’s what we do in my family!” But what about what we do in my family? Perhaps the family I came from? Or the new family my husband and I are creating? Maybe, just maybe, I have some names in mind for my child. The first words out of your mouth? “Oh, well, if it’s a girl, you MUST give her the middle name Marie. I Remember When We Told You We Were Expecting, and I Saw the Wheels Turning
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