It sounds like a teevee show from hell, right?
Number of days between finding out we can’t have kids and in-laws descending upon my house: 1
Number of days in-laws were in my house: 3.5
Number of in-law-type folk in my house: 15
Number of hours I spent in kitchen, preparing food, cleaning up, and/or trying to keep it together: 14
Look on my face when BIL, after watching me set out a ton of food, said, “Well, we’re hungry, so we’re gonna go somewhere to grab a bite:”
Yes, they stayed. And ate the food I lovingly prepared with my own hands and didn’t poison in any way.
Time I found out that Crazy SIL was planning on staying at our house that night: 11:07 p.m.
Look on my face when she later thanked me for letting her stay unannounced:
Number of times I refrained from strangling my 7-year-old niece, who insisted on playing board games but hard-core sulked whenever another player took the lead: 3
Number of dirty looks I shot her father whenever he proudly responded, “She’s competitive:” 27
Overheard response from my MIL when My Guy told her that our procreation attempts were at a standstill: “Why? WHY? WHYYYYYYYY?”
Number of swigs of Citron I snuck into my Black Cherry Kool-Aid: 2
Number of times I had to respond to direct “when are you having a baby” questions: 0, thankfully
Number of times I honestly and truly thought I might lose my shit: 1
Cause of possible shit-losing: BIL and SIL brought MIL’s cradle to the family gathering, with the intent of giving it back to her since their baby is now too big for it. MIL is always talking about how tiny her car is, and how tiny her house is … which left open the possibility of said cradle being left at my house, since My Guy can’t quite deflect his family’s efforts to use our house as their personal storage unit. See also: his brother’s kayak that’s been in our garage forever.
One and only clenched-teeth conversation I had with My Guy: “I ask 1 thing of you, and that’s to keep that fucking cradle out of my house no matter what. That’s all I ask. I beg of you.”
How I felt like reacting when my BIL fit the cradle in the back of MIL’s car: Kissing BIL on mouth, possibly with tongue.
Number of times My Guy told me he loved me and that I was the best wife ever and that he totally owed me and would make me many sandwiches and give me lots of the sex: 856
Number of times I responded to said compliments and promises with just a tight smile, even though in retrospect I so, so appreciate them: 856
Total amount of time I spent holed up in bathroom, playing with iPhone and wondering how long I could hide out before folks thought I had food poisoning and had possibly given it to them as well: 1 hour, 47 minutes
Escapes to grocery store during which I pretended the store was super busy and just stood in the paper plate aisle, texting my mom and enjoying Hall and Oates on the Muzak: 1
Timing of 1 and only downpour in the last month: Duration of My Guy’s attempts to grill food for 15
Number of times I told MIL to get out of my Kleenex-sized kitchen and go enjoy her family: 17
Reaction to 4-month old nephew: Initially bipolar. Unsure of whether to kidnap him and claim him as my own or pretend he doesn’t exist. Settled on being happy for the family, as long as that fucking cradle doesn’t get left at my house.
And how was your weekend?