Problematic Soninlaw
Margaret Clarke was gently rocking her granddaughter, hunting for that elusive arm position that would finally coax the little one into sleep. Little Milly had been a born whiner; the first months were a nonstop concerto of cries. Breastfeeding never really took off for Milly, her mother Cressida, and Margarets own motherinlaw. They resorted to formula, which seemed to give the baby a perpetual tummy ache. They swapped brands, tried dill water, chamomile tea everything under the sun but nothing soothed her. In the end Margaret spent hours rocking. The elderly homehelp nurse they called merely waved a hand and said, Just a tiny tot. Shell probably outgrow it by three months.
Grandma eyed the tiny, peaceful face with tenderness. Dont worry, shell grow up to be a beauty and a brainbox, just like my dear Cressida.
Her reverie was broken by the entrance of soninlaw Max Spencer. He leaned over the soup pot, gave it a quiet sniff, and slammed the lid back down. Margaret flinched and thought, If only Cressida were back from university already I could get home.
Max was of the opinion that Cressida should have finished her studies before the baby arrived, while Margaret, secretly, was against Cressida marrying Max. The compromise was that Cressida must finish her degree. No academic breaks those tend to become permanent exits.
Every compromise has a price Margaret put her own career on hold to help Cressida with the baby until Milly could start nursery. She tightened her belt; she had no other income. Scrimping on groceries, she often came to Cressida hungry, lost weight, and felt wobbly. And that was only the beginning of the trouble.
* * *
Mom, can you believe it? In a month all the credits and my dissertation are due, and I havent even started. Tomorrow Ive got four lectures can you look after Milly? I cant miss any seminars or tests, or theyll bar me from the finals!
Maybe Max can stay over tomorrow, isnt it his day off?
Margaret, I need a break too. Cressida, if its hard for Mum, just stay home tomorrow. Nothing will happen to your degree. Youre not even going to get a firstclass honours anyway.
Im not even hoping for a firstclass honours now, Cressida sighed. I just want to pass. Mathematical modelling is a dark forest. I dont get a thing, and every formula takes half a page.
This studying wont get you anywhere. I never went to university, yet Im in a decent job and will be pensioneligible at forty. And your mum studied whats a teacher earning these days, a few quid?
Cressidas heart tightened at the sting to her mother, but she didnt want a quarrel. She gave a guiltladen smile, offered everyone a cup of tea while the baby slept.
The gloomy forecasts proved wrong. Cressida passed that semester, and every one after, with top marks. Two years later she earned a firstclass honours, landed a lecturing post in her own department, and Margaret beamed with pride at her daughters glittering success. Max, however, rolled his eyes, patronisingly telling his wife and motherinlaw that all these degrees are as useful as a chocolate teapot now.
* * *
Milly grew, started nursery, and filled the house with her first words, mischievous antics, school plays, fancy dresses, and that pure childlike tenderness that only a toddler can muster. It softened Cressidas lingering resentment toward a husband who was becoming colder and more blunt.
A new wrinkle appeared: Maxs baseless jealousy. He would often overstep propriety, snatching the phone when Cressida took work calls from male colleagues and barging into the conversation. The young wife felt embarrassed and awkward in those moments.
