I Was So Relieved When My MIL Offered to Help with Our Baby at Night – But When I Checked the Baby Monitor I Went Pale

You immediately accept your mother-in-law’s offer to assist with baby duty at night. particularly if you haven’t had more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep in months. However, sometimes the assistance you believe you need turns out to be the nightmare you never anticipated.

I can still clearly recall my first impression of Evan. I had been dreading it all week, and it was at my closest friend Linda’s backyard barbecue. It was Linda’s bothersome tendency to try to introduce me to every man she knew.

She had added, “You’ll love him, Jess,” while pointing to me with a spatula earlier that day. “He’s quiet, but in a good way.”

I gave an eye roll. “Linda, please tell me you didn’t invite someone specifically for me.”

“Maybe,” she said, smiling. “But just talk to him, okay?”

The usual mayhem was in full force when I arrived. Tom, Linda’s husband, was entertaining everyone near the grill with a story that made them all chuckle. Adults were huddled in their normal groupings, while children ran about the yard with sticky fingers. Halfheartedly, I looked around the throng, already practicing reasons to get out of there early.

It was then that I saw him.

Sitting on Linda’s patio steps, Evan was quite happy to observe the chaos as it happened. There seemed to be a small bubble of tranquility surrounding him because of his serene energy. He grinned and patted the stair next to him as our eyes locked.

He remarked, “You must be Jessica,” as I approached. “Linda’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” I answered, placing my paper plate down next him.

“You’re a graphic designer, she said. That must be a fascinating job.

I was surprised not just that he inquired about my work, but also that he paid attention to my response. At these setups, most males just waited for their turn to speak, but he listened intently, taking in all that was said.

We spent hours discussing everything from whether pineapple should be on pizza to our favorite books. He had a knack for making conversation flow naturally.

As the evening wore on, he asked, “You know what I like about you?”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t feel compelled to speak during every silent time. That is uncommon.

When I got home that evening, I pondered whether Linda had finally been correct about someone.

After six months, Evan took me home to meet Marjorie, his mother.

For weeks, I had been anxious, imagining a strict woman who would criticize everything from my attire to my professional decisions. However, Marjorie drew me into a cozy bear hug as soon as she opened the door.

“Oh, you’re even prettier than Evan said!” she murmured in a gentle, melodic voice. “Come in, come in! As usual, I’ve prepared much too much food.

Based on Evan’s descriptions, her residence was just what I had anticipated. Everywhere you looked was cozy pandemonium. Each of the mismatched teacups that adorned the kitchen windowsill had a unique story to tell. Every surface was covered in plants, and I can assure you that she spoke to them more than most people do with their dogs.

Saying, “Now don’t mind the mess,” she ushered me into the living room. “This morning, I was repotting my African violets. If you don’t give them fresh soil every few months, they become really grumpy.

Yes, Marjorie was quirky, but she exuded a sincere friendliness that immediately put you at ease. I liked her right away because of the mischievous glint in her eyes and the way her laugh filled the room like wind chimes. She inquired about my career, family, and future goals. She shed joyful tears when Evan informed her that we were becoming serious.

We got married two years later. And we were fortunate to get our lovely daughter, Clara, a year later.

The first half-year was a total haze.

Nothing really prepares you for the weariness that comes with having a newborn, but I had heard others talk about it. The continual anxiety about whether you’re doing everything correctly, the sleepless nights, and the round-the-clock feedings. To tell the truth, my entire universe became limited to Clara and her requirements.

Evan made an effort to assist when he could, but neither of us like the amount of travel required by his sales career. There were periods when he was gone three or four days, and I had to manage everything by myself. I was exhausted by the time Clara reached eight months old.

My coworker Rachel observed, “You look terrible, honey,” during our video conversation one Thursday morning.

I chuckled and said, “Thanks for the pep talk,” but I knew she was correct. Even makeup was no longer able to cover up the black bags beneath my eyes, which had become permanent inhabitants. I hardly recognized the lady staring back at me when I saw my reflection on the computer screen.

I made the decision to start working from home part-time at that point.

I tried to strike a compromise between Clara’s nap routine and client deadlines by setting up a little office in our spare bedroom.

On certain days, it operated flawlessly. On other days, I had to answer emails while holding a wailing infant, and I wondered how other mothers managed to do it so effortlessly.

It was on a particularly difficult Wednesday night that things broke down. Clara was waking up every hour since she had been battling a cold. Evan was busy with work because he had to depart for a three-day business trip the next day.

At which point Marjorie called.

“Sweetheart,” she remarked in a worried tone, “you sound so exhausted.” What if I came over to help with Clara tonight?

I nearly burst into tears on the phone. “Are you certain? I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.

Burden me? I’ve been having problems falling asleep anyhow, honey. The amount of rest these ancient bones require has decreased. To give you some actual sleep, I could work the night shift while lounging on your couch.

It sounded miraculous. I had a glimmer of optimism that I might actually get more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep for the first time in months. Before I could argue myself out of it, I accepted her offer, holding on to it like a lifeline.

With Marjorie’s assistance, I dozed off for the first time since Clara’s birth. But my heart was pounding when I woke up at three in the morning. I was sweating coldly and had a nagging suspicion that something wasn’t right.

Evan was sleeping soundly next to me. Normally, I would find comfort in his regular breathing, but now it only made the silence feel more oppressive. I opened the baby monitor app on my phone after grabbing it off the nightstand.

I got a chill from what I saw on that tiny screen.

The grandma who had tucked us in hours ago did not resemble the Marjorie standing over Clara’s crib. Her head was encircled by a dark-patterned scarf that resembled a ceremonial crown. The light from numerous candles flickering on the dresser caught the strange jewelry that gleamed around her wrists and neck.

But what really left me speechless was what was on the nursery floor around her. The crib was surrounded by a complex pattern of small piles of what appeared to be herbs, small white items that I couldn’t identify, and a circle of salt. Marjorie’s lips were moving quickly in what sounded like a foreign tongue as she spoke something.

“Evan!” I gave my hubby such a violent shake that the bed frame shook. “Evan, wake up!”

“What’s wrong?” With his eyes still shut, he muttered.

“Look at the monitor!” I pushed the phone in his direction. “Look at what your mother is doing to our baby!”

His eyes sprung wide, and his face lost all of its color when he saw the TV. “What the hell?”

Without bothering to put on slippers or robes, we both rushed out of bed. We ran down the hall to Clara’s room, my bare feet slapping the hardwood.

Horrible scenarios were racing through my thoughts. Suppose those candles went out. What if smoke was entering Clara’s lungs? What if she was being harmed by whatever Marjorie was doing?

I rushed through the nursery door, causing it to slam violently into the wall.

“Mom, what are you doing?” Evan’s voice broke with shock and fear.

In person, the scene was even more unsettling. Everything appeared warped and off due to the dancing shadows created by the candlelight on the pastel walls. Marjorie’s eyes widened in surprise as she halted in the middle of whispering.

I didn’t think twice. I hurried over to Clara’s crib and cradled her in my arms while desperately making sure she was alright. She appeared quite calm, oblivious to the mayhem all around her, as her tiny chest rose and fell evenly against my.

“Thank God,” I said softly as I embraced her.

With the beads jangling lightly around her neck, Marjorie slowly straightened up. Her face looked like a child caught doing something she knew was bad, a mix of desperation and dread.

She whispered, “I can explain,” her voice trembling. “Please, let me explain.”

“Explain?” My voice was so uncontrollable. “You’re doing some sort of ritual and burning candles around my baby! What needs to be explained?

Marjorie clasped her hands together, trembling. “Jessica, I get how this appears. It sounds scary, I know. However, I make a lifelong commitment to never harm Clara. Never.

“Then what is all this?” Evan pointed to the odd items and candles strewn around the floor. Although he had a pale complexion, his jaw was set in a way that suggested he was making a concerted effort to maintain his composure.

Marjorie remarked, “It’s a protection ritual,” as tears began to well up in her eyes. “I learned it from my grandma, Elsie, when I was a little child. Her mother taught it to her, and so forth. Its purpose is to keep off evil spirits and disease. to ensure the safety of children.

“Safe?” I tightened my grip on Clara. “You call lighting candles around a baby safe?”

“I assure you that I handled the flames with extreme caution. Additionally, the herbs are harmless—just sage and lavender. Night after night, I’ve been lying awake worrying about all the risks she might face. Accidents, illness, and other dreadful things can happen to defenseless kids. I reasoned that perhaps she would be protected if I could accomplish this one thing.

Evan looked lost as he ran his hands through his hair. “Mom, you cannot simply enter our daughter’s room and carry out such an act without informing us. How horrifying it was to see this on the monitor, do you know?

With a whisper, “I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Marjorie said. “If I asked, I knew you would say no. However, Jessica always appeared so worn out and anxious. I believed I could make a significant contribution.

Then I observed something I hadn’t noticed previously when I looked at Marjorie. She didn’t have menacing or wild eyes. They were filled with the same affection and anxiety that sometimes kept me up at night, gazing at Clara’s cot and questioning whether I was doing enough to protect her.

However, that didn’t make her actions acceptable.

Evan whispered softly, “You must go,” and proceeded to extinguish the candles. “Tonight. You have to leave now, but we’ll discuss this later.”

With tears running down her cheeks, Marjorie nodded. Her hands trembled as she started to collect her unusual items.

She repeated, “I’m so sorry,” repeatedly. “I’m so, so sorry.”

When Mom was gone, Evan and I sat on the couch in the living room with Clara in between us. We were both unable to fall asleep. In whispered tones, we discussed trust and boundaries, and how love may occasionally seem like betrayal when it is veiled in fear.

It was a week before Marjorie returned. She appeared smaller when I opened the door, and her normal vigor gave way to sincere regret.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away,” she said. “However, I wanted you to understand that love was the source of everything I did. Perhaps misguided. Definitely frightening. However, love.

I gazed at this woman who had made too much food and conversed with her plants, and who had so graciously accepted me into her family.

“I know,” I finally said. However, regulations must now be in place. No more secrets. No more customs. You should ask us first if you wish to assist Clara. Always.

“Always,” she said, her eyes welling with relief.

And I agreed when she politely asked if she might hold Clara. You see, forgetting what happened is not the same as forgiveness. It’s about deciding what is most important.

Despite the complexity and messiness of families, genuine love may nevertheless find a way to overcome even the most bizarre gaps.