MY MIL DEMANDED TO NAME MY BABY—SO I AGREED, BUT WITH ONE CONDITION
When I found out I was pregnant, I was over the moon. My husband, Ethan, was excited too. But there was a huge problem—his mother.
Linda had zero concept of boundaries.
We were staying in her apartment to save money, and she treated us like tenants who owed her their souls. She approved our groceries, rearranged our furniture, and even walked into our bedroom unannounced.
But nothing prepared me for what she said one evening over dinner.
“Since you live under my roof,” she announced smugly, “I think it’s only fair that I get to name the baby.”
I nearly choked on my food. “I thought Ethan and I would choose the name?”
Linda waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. You live here rent-free. It’s only right I name MY grandchild.”
I could’ve argued. I could’ve screamed.
Instead? I smiled sweetly.
“You know what, Linda? That actually sounds fair.”
Her eyes lit up like she’d won the lottery.
“Wonderful! I’ve always loved the names Gertrude for a girl and Bartholomew for a boy!”
I forced a grin. “Great! But only if you agree to ONE condition.”
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Linda’s smile faltered. “What condition?”
I leaned forward, keeping my voice cheerful.
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“Since we’re naming people based on who pays rent… I think it’s only fair that Ethan and I get to rename YOU.”
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “Excuse me?”
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“You know, since you’re living with us too,” I added innocently. “We’ll start calling you… Granny McToothless! Or maybe Old Lady Jenkins?”
Ethan snorted into his drink.
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Linda turned bright red. “That’s ridiculous!”
I shrugged. “Not really. If you name my baby because you own the apartment, then I get to name you because I live here too. Seems fair, right?”
Silence.
Linda stared at me like she was rethinking her life choices. Then, with a huff, she grabbed her plate and stormed off.
She never brought up the baby’s name again.
And our daughter? We named her exactly what WE wanted.