A note on the table when I returned from the hospital with my newborn seemed like a sweet note from my mother-in-law. She charged $600 for watching our dog while I was in labor. My husband promised to talk to her, but I had a better plan.
A few days before labor, I lay on the couch attempting to manage my dull lower back pain, which was getting worse.
Rich, my golden retriever, kept his head on my lap, his large brown eyes observing me like he knew something was up. I rubbed behind his ears, appreciating his calmness.
“Jake!” I contacted my spouse, my voice strained as another wave of discomfort hit.
Jake stacked turkey and cheese on a sandwich in the kitchen, eyebrows crushed.
“Yeah, babe?” he said without looking up.
I sighed. We must decide what to do with Rich at the hospital. Can we ask your mom for help?”
My baby was a week overdue, so we had an induction the next day. I was ready to be done with this mess.
Jake came over with a sandwich and kissed my forehead. Don’t worry, Doris. Mom adores Rich. She’ll manage.”
It was my spouse. He dismissed most problems with a simple solution. I loved him for his optimism, but it often got on my nerves.
That might be hormones and my pain. I responded, “Alright,” sitting back in the cushions. “Just make sure she knows it’s only for a couple of days.”
Jake told his mother Abigail about the situation later that night. Without hesitation, she consented. He hung up, beaming. “She eagerly offered assistance. Problem solved.”
I suppose that’s plenty for me.
Jake and I packed our hospital suitcase that night and said goodbye to Rich the next morning. Kneeling, I scratched his fluffy head by the door.
“Be a good boy for Grandma, okay?” His tail wagged in understanding.
“Don’t worry about anything,” Abigail smiled and sent me out. “I just wish I could be at the hospital.”
That was a minor issue. We asked our family not to attend the hospital. After a difficult pregnancy, I needed my husband during labor.
I didn’t want anyone else there if something went wrong.
Abigail said she understood, but she may have been salty.
“Mom, you know our wishes,” Jake said, smiling to soften his comments.
“I know,” she said. Your modern kids! Go have my grandchild.”
“Thank you, Abigail,” I said, and we left.
***
I was never induced. My water broke upon entering the hospital. This was awful, so mothers should talk about labor more with each other and their daughters.
I spent hours clutching the hospital bed rails as my sole connection to reality. Between contractions and nurses’ constant prodding, I feared I was going crazy.
Jake held my hand and tried to calm me, even though he looked like he was one contraction away from fainting out.
When they put my son in my arms, all the pain and tiredness vanished. The little, wrinkly man was lovely.
Jake and I cried stupidly. We were amazed to have had this baby. The hospital was our happy place for three days.
I felt relieved when we could go home. Our infant was delicately brought through the hospital doors to the parking lot.
After Jake called Abigail to say we were discharged, she said she would give us a few days to settle in before meeting the baby. She was really kind!
As we pulled into our driveway, I considered sitting on the couch and introducing Rich to his new sibling. It was supposed to be perfect…but not.
When we entered the kitchen, I saw a folded paper on the table. My heart raced when I thought Abigail left us a nice “Welcome Home” note.
I carefully adjusted the baby in my arms and opened it, thinking, “Congratulations on your new bundle of joy!”
Instead, the note said:
Pay me $600 for feeding and walking Rich. My time costs. You have my financial info.”
I stared at it, thinking I was misreading it. But no. It existed. My mother-in-law demanded dog-watching pay.
I didn’t mind paying for things like that, but she was family and never discussed charging us.
I shouted “Jake,” sharply. He set down the car seat in the living room. “You might want to come see this.”
He entered, glanced at the note, and groaned. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” I waved the paper at him. “Your mom’s demanding money for taking care of Rich while I was pushing your child out of my body.”
Jake looked disheartened as he stroked his hair. “I’ll talk to her,” he mumbled.
“No,” I said, halting him. “I’ll handle this.” My mind was already planning something other than silently paying up.
Abigail visited the infant a week later. She arrived smiling, kissed Jake’s face, and cooed over my son like a loving grandma.
“Oh, he’s precious,” she remarked, holding him. “He has Jake’s nose.”
I nearly thought she was visiting her grandson. She stopped acting when she gave me the baby.
“So,” she murmured, rubbing her hands. “When will I get paid? I’m done waiting.”
I held my baby and stared at her. My smile remained. Of course, Abigail. On one condition, I’ll pay.”
Eyes narrowed. “Condition? Which condition?”
I took a folder from the computer desk between the kitchen and living room. I spent the past few days recalling every time Jake and I helped her.
Every favor and dollar we spent on her (except presents) was documented.
“Well,” I said, opening it, “since you’re charging us for your services, I figured it’s only fair we do the same.”
I slid the packet toward her on the table. Abigail leaned over, suspicious. “What’s this?”
“You can think of it as an itemized invoice,” I added lightly. “You know, like professionals do.”
As she grabbed the paper and read my writing, she paled.
“Let’s see,” I said, tapping the paper. Assisted with house moves last year? The cost is $800. It’s cheaper than regular movers, so call it a family discount. Your transmission failure cost us money to fix your automobile. That cost $1,200. I babysat your neighbor’s kids for free at your request? That’s about $600.”
Like a fish, Abigail’s mouth opened and closed. “This is ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “You can’t charge me for things family does for each other!”
Crossing my arms, I raised an eyebrow. “Exactly,” I responded, sternly. “The family helps each other for free. I thought so.”
She struggled to argue but mumbled. “But this is different! I rearranged my schedule to care for Rich!”
“And I had to rearrange my entire life to have your grandchild,” I shrugged. “So if you want to talk about fair compensation, I think we’re more than even.”
Abigail got beet red. She stood there staring at me like she couldn’t believe it. Without saying anything, she turned around and went out, slamming the door so hard the baby fussed.
Jake, who had been quietly watching from the kitchen, shook his head with a faint grin. “No one should mess with my wife,” he hugged and kissed my cheek.
I laughed as we parted. “You got that right,” I teased, sitting on the couch with the infant.
Rich came over, tail wagging, and rested his head on my knee. Looking down at the bundle in my arms, I rubbed his ears.
That moment brought me peace. While Abigail may not have learnt, she wouldn’t bother us about that $600 again. If she did, well… Still had the folder.
Let her test me.
A 30-year-old mother carrying a blanketed newborn on a couch with her husband beaming | Source: Midjourney
A 30-year-old mother carrying a blanketed newborn on a couch with her husband beaming | Source: Midjourney
Another tale: David sought a DNA test for his son, and Amelia felt their marriage was in danger. However, the findings went beyond paternity. A stunning twist changed David’s connection with his mother forever.
Inspired by true events and people, this work is fictionalized for creativity. To preserve privacy and enrich the story, names, characters, and facts were changed. Any resemblance to real people, events, or places is unintentional.
The author and publisher neither guarantee event authenticity nor character characterization and are not liable for misinterpretation. While this work is presented “as is,” the characters’ viewpoints do not reflect those of the author or publisher.
