I haven’t anywhere else to really vent this, and I hope I do a good first-time flamejob. Or whine.
Okay, background. I’m 28 weeks pregnant. I’ve been in the hospital since week 24. It’s a hell of a lot like being yanked off the street into jail on an outstanding warrant you didn’t know was out on you…one day, you’re minding your own business, ordinary checkup at the doctor’s, and the next thing you know you’re tossed in a bed upstairs, being stuck with an IV and dosed with all sorts of things, trying to make sure the kid stays in long enough to be able to live when it comes out. Meanwhile, husband is struggling to take care of 3 kids at home by himself for the first time ever. There is no end in sight, or at least not any time soon.
So (and please don’t think I’m not grateful for the woman’s generosity, she’s being VERY generous with her time and energy) MIL offers to come down daily from her house, half hour drive each way, to take care of the 3 not-school-age-yet kids, so husband can go to work. Taking care of kids includes a) feeding one child on a schedule, using feeding tube b) taking aforementioned child to therapy 2x/week, c) bringing children to mommy in the hospital so she doesn’t go insane from isolation and because kids would like to see mommy too.
The first thing she did, almost literally, was to start rearranging the furniture in my house. This is not the first time she has done this, either. She did it last time I was stuck on bedrest (albeit at home) and when I protested the shifting of a dresser into my bedroom and the transfer of my underwear from my usual dresser to the other dresser, said I shouldn’t complain because she’d worked so hard. This time, she wanted to take shelves out of the kids’ bedroom and put them in the kitchen. The kids didn’t want this. Husband suggested taking identical shelves from our bedroom instead. She argued with him, because kids’ shelves were taller. He had to fight her (verbally) to make her take the shelves from our bedroom. (The shelves were not a bad idea, actually. I wish I’d thought of it.) A few days later she rearranged the kids’ bedroom and upset them, without asking them first of course. Had to fix it the next day. I have often been tempted to go into her exquisitely tidy, expensively-decorated house and start rearranging furnishings to my tastes. But god, who does this? Who goes into somebody else’s house and starts moving decorations, much less furniture?
She has repeatedly forgotten or otherwise failed to feed the kid-on-a-schedule. Husband comes home, finally gets around to 3rd feed of day about 8pm (due anywhere between 6-8) and discovers child has not been fed since 10am. Now he must fit 3 feeds in between 8pm and whenever he gets to crawl into bed. Usually around 2 or 3 am. And he still has to get up at 8am.
She got lost on her way to therapy #1 the first day, despite not only driving there once with husband as navigator, but having written directions in hand. The location requires exactly 2 turns from the freeway. Got there 45 minutes late. Therapist #1 called to ask me where they were and if they were coming.
Next day, she was supposed to take child to therapy #2, in a different town. She headed for #1 despite having schedule/directions in hand. Eventually she did turn around, arriving 30 minutes late. Therapist called me to ask where they were. Therapist did not get her lunch that day because of waiting, waiting, waiting.
Friday evening, a friend (lives an hour away) very generously offered to drop by the house and watch the kids for a couple of hours so husband (sick) could rest. Friend arrived on doorstep. MIL answered door. Friend steps up all friendly, smiling, offering out her hand, “Hi, you must be Joan!” MIL stiffened up, got all offended, corrected friend (probably her own age) with “Mrs. Smith.” Friend reconsidered offer to care for children, but fortunately stayed anyway.
Today, therapist #2 called me when MIL/child were 20 minutes late, asking if she should eat her lunch or what, as MIL/child could not be reached at home and had not arrived. Of course she had a reason why she was late.
Kids have been sick, so have not come to visit. Husband has also been sick and has not recovered yet, so even though kids are well, husband cannot bring them. Result: I have seen kids once, for 10 minutes, in the past week - a mother’s day concession I think. Today however therapy #2 should have been over by 12:30 at the latest, and it is a 10 minute drive from there to hospital. MIL did not bring them. Did not call to offer explanation. (No, I did not call, as I cry too much these days as it is and I cannot bear to hear whatever she thinks her valid excuse is for why I cannot see my own children.) Gaah. Even if she dislikes me as much as I dislike her, and I imagine the feeling is mutual, couldn’t she bring a book and ignore me while I get to see my kids for a half hour?
I keep telling myself this is the ‘price’ of free help. We could certainly hire somebody for $200-250/day to care for 3 children if we wanted to, it’s a free country after all. And I am grateful that an adult is supervising my kids, lest they burn the house down, coat the entire interior in powdered sugar or worse, or get toted off by CPS for neglect. But mein gott in Himmel, I am at a loss how to deal with this woman anymore. When she cannot be relied upon to do the things we need her to do, and insists on doing things we don’t want, and always has some reason why she’s right and we’re wrong, I would like nothing so much as to never see her again. And yet I must lie here in this damnable hospital bed, maybe for the next 6 weeks (or until this kid is born prematurely, whichever comes first) and endure it, and at least pretend it doesn’t bother me, and everything’s fine, and I’m not spending half my days crying out of sheer loneliness and frustration, because our other choice is for husband to take an unpaid medical leave (we like our house a bit too much to do that to the mortgage) or as previously mentioned, shell out $200/day for somebody from an agency to watch the kids. Or daycare, similarly expensive, and not an option for kid-on-a-schedule health reasons.
<plink plink plink> (sound of me pulling my hairs out, one by one.)
