My mutant uterus, part 2.

So, I evidently made my future mother-in-law cry.

Starting married life out on the right foot? CHECK!

During day three of the Thanksgiving family celebration marathon, MIL, her sister and her niece asked me if I’d gotten cornered by Grandma. CHECK!

They laughed and apologized. MIL’s sister said that Grandma runs her mouth about stuff that isn’t any of her business, and how she has lost any filter she might have ever had. She talks about sex and has told her daughters about how she wanted kids but wanted nothing to do with the how-kids-come-to-be part. She’s discussed this in detail. Evidently, you can say whatever you want when you’re 90.

Which made us all laugh. And then started the kids conversation in earnest.

MIL said she never wanted anything but to have children and be a mother.

MIL’s sister and MIL’s niece both said that while they love their children more than anything, they never felt like their lives would be incomplete without children.

Which led me to say, “Well, I feel the same way. But if we don’t have kids, you can give me a piece of your mind when you’re 90.”

MIL’s sister and MIL’s niece both laughed. And MIL turned her back to me.

Come to find out, she cried – yes, cried – to My Guy later about how she didn’t understand why I didn’t want children, and she knew he did, and how could this happen?


My Guy once thought he wanted kids. And he has since changed his mind somewhat – the jury is out. (Trust me, we’ve talked about this.) And he would like to think his mother expects that he could stand up for himself.

I don’t know if I want kids or not. My Guy and I will figure it out. I would like to think that my future MIL respects me as an individual and not as a uterus going to waste. I would like to think that she would respect any decision I make.

This is such a stereotypical situation – it’s embarrassing. But I’m a little bit crushed. I like my future MIL, even if we aren’t always on the same page. I fear that I outed myself as totally different from her, and now she won’t like me. Ever. And I fear that this is just the first in a long line of conclusions that she will jump to about me and my diseased brain and wrong way of doing things.

But I’m also not going to bust out a bunch of babies just to make her happy.

I love her son. We are partners. And we will figure it out together.

Just have some respect, m’kay?

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