When my mother-in-law, Melissa, came over to help with my colicky baby while my husband was away, I thought I’d finally get a much-needed break. But what happened during those few hours left me questioning her intentions, my instincts as a mother, and even my marriage.
I sank into the couch while Emily’s faint cries echoed from the nursery. I didn’t even have the energy to respond right away.
Three months in, and I still wasn’t sure how people did this. How did they care for a colicky baby, sleep two hours at a time, and still look like they had it all together?
My hair hadn’t seen a brush in two days, and my shirt was a patchwork of spit-up stains.
Peter had called earlier.
“How are my girls?” He’d asked.
“We’re surviving,” I said with a weak laugh, bouncing Emily on my shoulder. “You’re lucky you’re on the road and not stuck here with this little tyrant.”
