I've spent a lot of time thinking of what to call this post. God does answer prayers? How many shoes does this woman have to drop, anyway? Drama mama? OK, now I really give up? Apparently my soap opera has been renewed for another season? All I can do is laugh?
Yeah. Or, how about, the in-laws have reared their ugly sides, much like Putin peering in Sarah Palin's backyard. (That's too long for a blog title, plus no longer relevant, huh?)
Their exuberance over the impending grandson was over the top. A little too over the top. I knew that at the time, but thought it would be a bubble that would only burst once my mother-in-law figured out I was never going to leave a nursing baby at her house to be her plaything, or leave my daughter alone with her ever again. But I thought, and was depressed by the thought, that I'd have them gushing about my life for the next 6-9 months or so. That was my unspoken prediction.
My husband sends me a quick e-mail today: after they didn't call last night, knew something was up. The other shoe has dropped. Angry voicemail from my dad, no worries about them hovering about for the birth as they do not intend to be here nor ever speak to me again.
I call my husband, who is in a conference call. He says he'll play me the voicemail when he gets home, but basically, they thought about it and how dare we only give them three weeks' notice of the birth? It's unacceptable and they are done with us.
Oh, how I wish this is true. But I just feel it's another excuse for more drama. Our duty, now, is not to feed the drama. I said to my husband, ok, it's another letter, this one saying we're sorry they feel this way, this is their decision, the ball is in their court. Though, if they want a place in our lives, it won't be through passive attempts to send weak gestures. Once again, we're only interested in resolving conflict in calm, rational ways. And then we let it go.
Seriously. I've moved to the I don't care stage. I don't care. And also the, could they make this anymore about themselves? I mean seriously. How dare we only gie them three weeks' notice? Wow.
My grandfather from the old country had a short little saying: "spit up!" He'd say it anytime someone was acting angry or acting out in any way. You'd look at him quizzically and then he'd explain with hand gestures, too - Spit up, and see where it lands.
Or, another way of saying, cut off your nose to spite your face.
I was worried all summer about telling them. Worried how they'd react. Now they've reacted, and it's so over the top it's become a farce. It's actually laughable. To me, at least. I am going to insist my husband see his old counselor, despite the cost. He needs some validation right now. And I'm going to do what needs to be done these next 19 days and focus where I should - my family - my husband, my daughter, my soon to be born son, and myself. The rest will sort itself out.
5 hours ago