I have always had a decent, if not overly warm, relationship with my mother-in-law, Carol. She lived nearby and was often willing to babysit her only grandchild. This was convenient, especially since I worked night shifts at the hospital.
However, in the last few weeks, my four-year-old son Liam became visibly upset when I told him that Grandma was coming over to babysit.
One evening as I was getting ready to leave for my shift, Liam burst into tears. ‘I don’t want Grandma to stay with me!’ – he wailed, clinging to my leg.
I knelt down to comfort him. “But why, honey? What happened?”
‘Because…because…because Grandma is acting weird,’ he said through his sobs.
‘Weird how?’ I asked softly, but before he could answer, Carol came through the door, cheerful as ever. Liam immediately ran upstairs to his room.
I felt bad, but I had no choice but to go to work. As I drove to the hospital, all sorts of options ran through my mind. What could Carol have done to make Liam so worried?
–
When my shift ended the next morning, I rushed home, determined to find out what was going on. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, frozen in shock.
Liam was sitting on the living room floor, his pale little face surrounded by shards of glass and spilled juice. His favourite toys were shoved into a corner and his eyes were red from crying.
‘Liam!’ I rushed over to him, pulling him to me. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He clung to me tightly, his voice trembling. “Mummy, Grandma got mad at me. She said I was bad because I spilled my juice.”
My heart dropped. ‘She yelled at you?’
He nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. “She yelled loudly and told me I was dirty. Then she threw my toys and said I didn’t deserve them!”
I felt a surge of anger, but forced myself to stay calm for Liam’s sake. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m already here.”
After getting him settled, I checked the house. The kitchen was a mess, the bin was overflowing, and there was an air of chaos throughout the house. Carol had already left without leaving a note or explanation.
I decided I needed answers.
–
Later in the afternoon, I rang Carol. She answered in her usual cheerful tone. “Hi, honey! How was your shift?”
‘Carol, we need to talk,’ I said firmly. ‘What happened last night with Liam?’
There was a pause, then she replied dismissively, “Oh, nothing much. He spilled his juice and I had to teach him a little lesson to be more careful.”
‘Teach him a lesson?’ I repeated, anger simmering beneath my calm tone. “He’s four years old, Carol. He was terrified. He said you were yelling at him and throwing his toys around!”
‘Oh, he’s just being dramatic,’ she scoffed. “Kids need discipline, you know. You’re too soft on him.”
Her words hit a nerve. “Discipline doesn’t mean scaring him or throwing his things around! If you can’t treat him with love and respect, you won’t babysit him anymore.”
Carol flinched. “Are you serious? After everything I’ve done for you?”
‘Absolutely serious,’ I replied and hung up before she could continue to argue.
–
But I wasn’t done yet. I decided that Carol needed a taste of her own medicine. That weekend I invited her over for tea and deliberately spilled the drink on the table. Cleaning it up, I said with exaggerated sweetness: “Ouch! I guess even adults can be sloppy sometimes. It’s a good thing we don’t throw other people’s stuff when they make a mistake, right?”
She stared at me, realising what I was doing. ‘Very funny,’ she muttered.
‘It’s not a joke, Carol,’ I said firmly. “Liam is a child. He needs love, patience, and understanding, not fear. If you want to be a part of his life again, you’re going to have to prove that you can treat him kindly.”
From that point on I arranged for another nanny and never left Liam alone with her again. Eventually Carol apologised, although it took weeks of silence for her to realise how serious I was.
In the end, I learnt an important lesson: my son’s safety and happiness come first, no matter who I have to confront. And Liam? He’d never have to be afraid in his own home again.
