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The situation escalated one morning after a particularly trying doctor’s visit with Dylan, who had just received his vaccinations. He was fussy, and I was running on little sleep.
All I craved was a soothing cup of coffee when we returned home. As I settled Dylan in his crib and finally headed to the kitchen, I heard the front door open and the familiar cheer, “Hi, dear! Just came to check on all of you!”
Masking my irritation, I smiled and nodded, asking if her brothers wanted to watch too. Once she scampered off, I turned back to face my mother-in-law, who, sensing the tension, quickly left.
When George came home, I told him about the ongoing issues and asked him to speak with his mother. He acknowledged that she had overstepped boundaries but failed to address it with her. That weekend, the unresolved tensions came to a head.
After a night of little sleep, exhausted by the never-ending responsibilities of motherhood, I managed to muster enough energy to bake homemade pizzas with the children.
They were ecstatic about the activity, eager to consume their masterpieces for dinner. I put Dylan down for a nap just as dinnertime neared, expecting for a quiet end to the day.
To my dismay, when I returned to the kitchen, I found the pizzas gone. George and his mother were in the lounge, nonchalantly enjoying the last slices.
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