That is not your daughter are you completely blind?
I had been seeing my future husband for just under a year. When I first met his mother, I had no inkling her attitude towards meand later, our daughter born after the weddingwould be so suspicious and resentful. The issue was our baby girl was born with classic fair hair and striking blue eyes, while my husband, just like his younger brother, had that darker, almost Romani look.
I was still on the maternity ward when my mother-in-law first rang me, offering her congratulations and saying she wanted to meet her granddaughter. And so the encounter happened. The instant she laid eyes on my daughter, her whole expression changed; she grew tight-lipped, and right there in the hospital corridor asked, point-blank:
Did they swap the baby?
Everyone who overheard stood stunned, and my mother-in-law fixed me with that gaze, waiting for an answer. Embarrassed, I stammered out that it was impossiblethey couldnt have swapped her, Id been with the baby the entire time.
Her second comment, though unspoken, was written all over her face. But at home, while we sat with our baby, she turned to my husband and declared,
Thats not your daughter. Are you completely blind?
My husband froze in disbelief, but she pressed on, relentless,
She has nothing of you in her. She doesnt even look like her mother. Havent you wondered why? Clearly, someone else is the father!
My husband, thank goodness, rallied to my defence. He ushered his mother out of our flat. I was woundedafter all the excitement and the difficulties of pregnancy, I had looked forward to nothing more than that first day at home, holding my healthy, precious daughter. I remembered how relieved Id felt, seeing that squalling, rosy-cheeked baby for the first time, while the doctor joked,
Looks like youve given birth to a little opera singer! Those lungs are something special!
I smiled through my exhaustion as she was placed beside me, and we were wheeled away. Throughout those first days, before being discharged, I dreamt of family Christmases, and how wed celebrate together. But suddenly
My mother-in-laws antics ruined everything. Even after my husband showed her out, she became more erratic. Phone calls to my husband became routineshe visited rarely, but when she did, every encounter was laced with sharp jabs, all at my expenseand at the expense of our joy.
She never once picked up her granddaughter, refused to be left alone with her, and demanded a paternity test. She babbled nonsense, and I heard every word from the next room. My husband tried, with growing frustration, to convince her that he trusted me, that this little girl was his, but shed only scoff,
Well, lets not guesslets prove it, shall we?
One day, after yet another barrage, Id had enough. I marched into the kitchen, interrupting their conversation,
How much longer do we have to listen to this rot? Fine, lets get a test. Well even order a lovely frameMother can hang it above her bed and admire the result. Itll say, in bold letters, that Dad is you!
She gave me a glare that could curdle fresh milk, utterly lost for words. My sarcasm was plain enough that there was no mistaking my meaning.
Still, the test was done. My husband barely glanced at the resultshe already knew what theyd say. My mother-in-law, after reading it, simply handed the paper back to me. I couldnt resist,
So, what sort of frame do you wantlight wood or dark for your keepsake?
Fuming, she retorted,
Shes making fun of me! Youve probably got some mate to fiddle this test. My other son, his child looks just like himdark skin, the same eyes. How can there even be doubt who the father is?
In the end, the very thing shed pinned all her hopes on changed nothing. The running feud persisted, each week blurring into the next, five stormy years slipping by. In time, I fell pregnant again, just three months after my husbands brothers wife. Wed always got on splendidly with them; their patience, however, wore thin each time my mother-in-law revived her old suspicions about our eldest girl.
Their second child was a girl. We met the new baby and her mum as they returned from hospital; when I glanced beneath the blanket, I burst out laughing. She was the very image of our daughter! Everyone stared at me. Still grinning, I quipped,
Well now, youll have to admitwhich of you is secretly my paramour?
The room erupted in laughtereveryone got the joke, except my mother-in-law, who turned beetroot red. She didnt say a word. That, I believe, was a turning point. At first she stopped muttering her suspicions, and the first time I watched her playing dolls with my daughter, I realised the thaw had begun.
Now, my girl is the eldest and, without doubt, her grandmothers favouriteher special one, her berry darling, and on and on. Gifts are heaped upon her; shes spoiled and fussed over, as if those years of suspicion needed to be repaid all at once. I hold no anger towards my mother-in-law, though a faint scar remains. I can only hope, with time, even that will fade.
