When Ethan and I found out we were expecting, it was a moment of pure joy. But the happiness quickly turned into tension, and the source of that tension was none other than Ethan’s mother, Linda.
We were living in her apartment to save money, and while it made financial sense, it didn’t take long for me to realize that Linda had a habit of treating the apartment like it was her own kingdom. From approving what groceries we bought to barging into our room without knocking, her lack of boundaries started to wear me down.
Then, one evening, Linda dropped a bombshell. She casually announced, “Since you live under my roof, I think it’s only fair that I get to name the baby.”
I was speechless. “I thought Ethan and I would choose the name?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“No, no,” she waved me off, “You live here rent-free. It’s only right I name MY grandchild.”
I could have fought back, but instead, I decided to play it cool. I smiled sweetly. “You know what, Linda? That actually sounds fair.” Her face lit up with a triumphant grin.
“Wonderful! I’ve always loved the names Gertrude for a girl and Bartholomew for a boy!”
I forced a smile, feeling my stomach drop. “Great! But only if you agree to ONE condition.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What condition?”
I took a deep breath, bracing myself. Linda had a way of pushing my buttons, but I needed to stay calm. “You get to name the baby, but from now until the baby’s born, you have to let Ethan and me have final say on how we live in this apartment. No more rearranging our furniture, no more going through our groceries, and definitely no more walking in unannounced.”
Linda didn’t seem happy, but after a brief hesitation, she agreed. The deal was set, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that she might try to find a way around it.
The Deal and Its Consequences
In the days that followed, Linda surprisingly stuck to her word. There were no unexpected intrusions or unapproved changes. Ethan and I even started to feel a little more at ease in our own home, something I hadn’t realized I was craving.
We began to focus on the baby, researching cribs, looking at baby clothes, and slowly starting to picture our new life as parents. However, one thing still nagged at me—the names Linda had chosen. Gertrude and Bartholomew were hardly modern choices, and every time I thought about them, I shuddered.
At night, Ethan and I would whisper about it, our thoughts mirroring each other’s. “Gertrude is a fine name, it’s just… old-fashioned,” Ethan said one night as we lay in bed.
“Yeah,” I responded. “And Bartholomew might work in a Shakespearean play, but I’m worried it’ll be tough for a kid in modern times.”
He squeezed my hand. “We did make a deal, though. I don’t want to start this parenting journey by breaking our word.”
I sighed, trying not to show my frustration. “I know, but maybe we’ll get lucky, and Linda will slip up. Then we’ll get to choose the name ourselves.”
Ethan chuckled softly. “Let’s hope,” he said, but we both knew it wasn’t ideal.
The First Slip-Up
A week later, we got the chance we were hoping for. Linda, in a rare moment of forgetfulness, barged into the living room without knocking. I was sitting on the couch in my pajamas, eating toast and reading a parenting book when she walked right in.
“Linda!” I exclaimed in shock, nearly dropping my toast. “What about our rule?”
She froze, looking guilty. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. Force of habit!” she apologized.
Ethan, who was just heading out the door for work, turned around with a knowing look. Linda had broken the rule.
Before either of us could speak up, Linda quickly added, “I just wanted to let you know that maintenance will be turning off the water in the building for a few hours. Didn’t want you to be surprised.” And just like that, she left as abruptly as she came.
I blinked at Ethan. “She broke the rule, right?”
He nodded. “Definitely did.”
“So that means…” I trailed off, my mind racing. “We could pick the name ourselves?”
Ethan hesitated, clearly torn. “We could, but it feels like a small slip-up. She had a legitimate reason for coming in. Do we really want to hold her to the letter of the law over something so small?”
I paused, weighing his words. As much as I wanted to get out of the deal and have a say in the name, I knew Ethan was right. We’d made a promise to be fair, and I didn’t want to start a conflict over a minor mistake. “Let’s give her another chance. I don’t want to seem like we’re just waiting for her to fail.”
Ethan kissed me on the forehead. “That’s why you’ll be a great mom.”
The Growing Tension
In the following weeks, Linda mostly stuck to her side of the deal. She respected our space and gave us more room to breathe. Occasionally, I would come home to find the throw pillows on the couch rearranged, but I didn’t let it bother me. I knew it wasn’t a huge deal in the grand scheme of things.
Our lives continued to move forward. We had regular doctor’s appointments, and with each passing day, the baby bump grew. It felt real now—our little one was on the way, and it was time to start preparing.
Then, one afternoon after an appointment, we returned home to find Linda waiting with two cups of herbal tea. She was smiling warmly, and for a moment, she seemed like the kind of mother-in-law I’d always hoped for.
“How did the appointment go?” she asked, her eyes filled with genuine concern.
Ethan gave her a thumbs-up. “Everything’s perfect. Baby’s healthy.”
Linda’s eyes sparkled. “That’s wonderful news.” Her gaze fell on the ultrasound photo in Ethan’s hands, and she added, “So precious. You know, I’ve been thinking… maybe Gertrude or Bartholomew is a bit too old-fashioned. I’ve been looking at some other names. Have you considered Merida for a girl? Or maybe Zebedee for a boy?”
I bit my lip, trying not to react. “Those are… unique,” I said, my voice thick with uncertainty.
Ethan cleared his throat. “Thanks for your suggestions, Mom. We appreciate that you’re putting so much thought into this.”
Linda sipped her tea, smiling contentedly. “I really am. I want to give my grandchild a name that stands out.”
The Struggle with Letting Go
That night, Ethan and I lay in bed, feeling the weight of the situation. “Merida? Zebedee?” I muttered, flipping through a baby name book. “Your mom is getting more creative by the day.”
Ethan ran a hand through his hair. “I know, but she has kept to her part of the deal—more or less. She’s tried to respect our space, and she’s obviously excited.”
We both fell silent, thinking the same thing: Linda might keep her promise all the way until the baby’s born, which meant we could very well end up with a name from her ever-growing list of unusual ideas.
Just then, my phone pinged. It was a message from my sister across town. She sent me a link to a video about assertive parenting and the importance of naming your child with intention. The video discussed how letting someone else name your child could lead to future regrets, and something about the idea hit me hard. My stomach twisted with guilt. Was I really willing to give up control over something so important just to keep the peace?
