The day I told my husband I was pregnant, the first person he called was his mom. The next few days, his mom came over with bottles of water from the stream in their village. She said it was so pure it would cleanse the baby and help me give birth to a beautiful child.
I accepted the bottles happily, but I never drank from them. I pretended to, and one after the other, I poured all the water away. Whenever she called, she asked if I was drinking the water, and I happily replied that I was. She said, “With this water, I wish you won’t even go to antenatal and see how smooth your delivery would be.”
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She came anytime she suspected the water might have been finished. Sometimes she came with chewing sticks. She said the milky water from the stick would give the baby strong bones and a healthy heart. I didn’t take any of that. I told my husband to at least restrain his mother, and he told me his mother was looking out for the good of us.
My parents live not too far from us, so I went there whenever I felt like it. I told my mother everything that was going on, and she told me to be careful. Either my mother-in-law was trying to customize the destiny of the child in me, or she was after something spiritual. My dad was very angry and was even trying to call my husband to tell him his mind, but my mom stopped him.
I was six months gone when she came to visit. I was in the bathroom when I heard my mother-in-law asking my husband about my due date. My husband said he had forgotten. She told him, almost in whispers, that he should let her know because she had to be around exactly three days before delivery.
My husband told her it wasn’t possible to know because even the dates given are estimated dates. She said, “You let me know and leave the rest to me.” When I was alone with my husband and asked what he was talking to his mom about, he said they were not talking about anything. I said, “I heard my name. You were talking about nothing with my name involved?”
“So we can’t mention your name in our conversation again?” he asked. “It wasn’t anything special, just usual talks.”
That was when I knew my husband was in deep with his mom, but as to why, I didn’t know. A week before my delivery, I packed a few things when I was going to the office. When I closed from work, I told my husband I was going to be with my parents until delivery because I could feel the time was near. He screamed on the phone, “Why are you telling me now when we could have had a conversation about it? Come home. Your parents’ house is not your home.”
We argued over this for several minutes, but I didn’t listen to him. He said he wanted to be there with me when I gave birth. I said he would definitely be there with me at the hospital. He still insisted I should come home, but I didn’t until he called my dad complaining to him. I was there that day. My dad said, “She’s very close and she wants her mother to take care of her. Is that wrong?”
When he realized he wasn’t going to have his way, he stopped calling and didn’t visit until the night I told him I was going to the hospital to deliver. His mother was already in the house with him, waiting for the moment. When I was in the ward, my husband came followed by his mom. She said, “I’ve come to take care of you. I realize your mother doesn’t want to come, that’s why I’m here, so after delivery, we are going home.”
I gave birth to a boy, and right there my mother-in-law gave him a name she said she had reserved for the child. When I was discharged, my dad was there with his car. My husband had also come with a taxi. It was near chaos and confrontation. My mother-in-law was louder. “This is their first child, and they have to be together and go through the whole process together. Why are you trying to deny my son the experience of his own child?”
My parents prevailed because I chose where I wanted to be. My husband said he was disappointed. I apologized and told him I was more comfortable with my mom than his mom. I wouldn’t be comfortable asking his mom to run errands for me, but with my mom, I could even ask her to carry me on her back. Even after the issue was settled, he still insisted I should come home, which I didn’t.
I spent my maternity leave here with my parents and did the naming ceremony here, which his mother refused to attend, but I didn’t care. When I finally moved in to be with my husband, I realized a lot had changed in the house. When I asked if his mother was going to come around as often as she used to, he said, “After the way you treated her, do you think she will be fine with you?”
True to his words, his mother doesn’t talk to me to date. She has come here twice since I’ve been home. She didn’t eat what I cooked and didn’t say a word to me. I also refused to allow her to have alone time with my boy. Whenever she carried him, I was next to her watching her every move. Later she told her son I was behaving as if she was going to chew my son.
Just a few days ago, I narrated everything I found strange about his mom: the herbs, the chewing sticks, her insistence on being there three days before I delivered. “Why three days and not any other number of days? Don’t you find it strange too?”
He never answered any of my questions yet concluded that I was calling his mother a witch and that he had realized I had no respect for his mom. “It’s not respect. It’s the way she’s going about things. Don’t you also find it strange?”
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I’m not worried that his mother doesn’t talk to me. When she’s here, I will at least try to greet her. If she responds, fine; if she doesn’t, fine. But I’m not allowing her close to my baby without my supervision. When push comes to shove, I’ll leave for my parents’ house. Whatever she’s up to, whether good or bad, she should keep it. God is the keeper of man and not her.