My mother-in-law has always ruined milestones, so when she “accidentally” knocked over our gender reveal cake, the shock was her smirk. But my SIL’s unexpected turnabout ruined her smile!
My mother-in-law is good at destroying milestones. This family mythology has haunted every important moment of our relationship.
Let me describe her best devastation hits.
Our wedding is a good example. Most mothers-in-law worry about matching the dress code, but she wore a cream outfit so close to white that my wedding planner nearly fainted.
“It’s not white,” she said with her decades-old innocence. “It’s mere cream.”
Photographs provide a different tale.
In the sunlit church courtyard images, her outfit is almost blindingly white. When I initially saw those images and realized she’d damaged every one, I felt ill.
The pregnancy announcement followed.
We prepared a special moment to announce our news.
Daniel and I chose elegant cards and a cozy restaurant for a family supper.
Patricia outdid us. I received a Facebook notification on dinner day. She shared our pregnancy announcement with family tags.
Devastated. She destroyed our careful planning and deprived us of the time to share the news together.
She subsequently said, “I was just so excited,” but her apologies never quite reached remorse.
What about baby names? Wow, another stunning border crossing.
Since my pregnancy announcement, Daniel and I had been debating baby names. Ezra for boys and Quinn for girls were our final choices after months of consideration.
We wanted a little magic for ourselves by keeping the names confidential until the gender reveal.
Patricia shared them with her bridge group before you could say “oversharing.”
There’s nothing like meeting one of your MIL’s friends at the grocery store and getting a negative lecture about your “eccentric” baby names.
Patricia giggled when I challenged her.
I’m sorry. She said, “I forgot you wanted to keep it secret and everyone was asking!” “Don’t mind Margaret. She intended good. You chose odd names.”
I was really careful when we decided on a gender reveal party.
I had a list of everything I needed to control to make Patricia-proof. It had to be small so I could plan and do most of the work.
One night, I sighed in bed, worrying about everything that could go wrong.
“It would be easier to just not invite her,” I told Daniel.
“She means well,” Daniel replied, linking our fingers. Give her a chance. She won’t wreck a cake-cutting.”
My hubby. Always hopeful. Never giving up on individuals, even if they’ve committed spectacular sabotage.
A meticulously prepared event took place in the backyard that afternoon.
The maple trees diffused soft June sunlight, casting shadows on the elegantly set table.
The edges had pink and blue goodies. I served macarons with beautiful color gradients, cupcakes with small gender-neutral question mark picks, and complementary sparkling drinks.
Cake in the center. A tall white confection that held all our hopes and expectations.
Jenny, my sister-in-law, gave birth.
The cake had white icing, small sugar question marks, and a fun “Boy or Girl?” topper. It was flawless.
For a brief, glorious moment, I thought we could pass this milestone without drama.
Patricia arrived.