I know you are super excited to be a grandmother (and why shouldn’t you be?), but I need you to contain yourself a bit. I have confided in you and turned to you when I was distraught about what might be happening with me. In that moment, you were the wonderful, calm, voice of reason and comfort I needed you to be – but what happened to that person since then?
Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I downplay it too much. Maybe I haven’t actually said it in words that you understand – but I am worried and some days I’m sad. I thought maybe I didn’t need to really tell you that part; I had hoped you’d understand it because you are my mom. And a wonderful mom at that.
But when other people express their concern about me, please do not come back to me in an accusing tone and ask if I told them that I had a miscarriage. And try not to sound so shocked when my mother in law tells you that I seemed worried.
Every other person in my life who I have confided in assumes that this is hard and has been sensitive to that fact. I assumed you would do the same, but you gloss over it instead.
Even though I set myself up for it and no one else in the room knew anything was up, I felt humiliated when you teased me yesterday about having a baby. From anyone else, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But you know.
So, in short, please stop monopolizing every conversation with how worried you are about my cousin’s pregnant wife because she is dizzy and when you think they’ll have a shower for her and about the adorable baby things you’re buying my niece. And, for heaven’s sake, do not ask me if I’m sure I’m not pregnant – you know the medication I’m on mimics those symptoms, so don’t play dumb.
Because, as much as I love the babies in my life, some days it is hard. Some days, I have to make myself hold my nieces. Some days I have to leave stores because I can’t handle the baby department. And some days, I cry on the phone with you and you don’t notice.


