We were parents for the first time.  And like most in our situation, we didn’t yet realize the significance of the change in our lives, and for the first few weeks lived on coffee and adrenaline.  But soon after bringing our son home from the hospital, it was clear, we needed help.  And guidance.  And support.  These all came in the form of my mother-in-law who would leave her work on Friday afternoons and make the two  hour drive to our home to relieve my wife and me, and take over primary care for our son. We gratefully accepted the help and promptly collapsed into a blissful few hours of sleep.

My wife and I both had corporate jobs when we decided to grow our family, and I can be honest here, I never for one minute thought about who would take care of our child after he or she was born.  Not once.  Yes, we had planned and executed our wedding, the purchase of our first home, and our pregnancy, but that’s where my brain stopped.  I can honestly say I had reasons for my ignorance.  I grew up an only child in with two parents who were teachers.  So for as long as I could remember, I was either at school, or home with them.  The first five years of my life really hadn’t entered my mind when my wife and I were engaged in the process of getting pregnant, registering for showers, or assembling baby furniture. 

But suddenly here we were in the kitchen looking at each other and having a conversation about whether my wife wanted to quit her job and stay home, or resume her working life at the end of her maternity leave.  “I love being a mom, but I can’t stay at home” or something like it was what I heard.  “Ok, great, let’s figure this out,” or something to that effect was my response.  But again, I had no idea what lied ahead.  We visited several care facilities, and let me be clear, I have great respect and appreciation for the institutions and individuals who accept 3-month old babies into their arms for day care, but for me is was a bucket of ice water to the face.  I didn’t want to drop our son off with someone I barely knew.  There had to be a different way.

My mother-in-law was divorced from my father-in-law for twenty years, and she had what I would describe as a job, not a career.  “Let’s ask your mom to move in with us.  We can take care of her and she’ll take care of the baby,” I asked my wife one night while sitting on the sofa in front of mindless TV.  “Why would she move in with us?” she said.  I went into full on pitch-mode.  “We will get her a car, pay her medical insurance, and she can quit her job.  I don’t think she loves her job anyway.”  I was successful, and got the green light to approach my MIL.

She refused me several times, over the course of about a month I wore her down and convinced her my appeal was genuine, and I was confident we could provide a better lifestyle for her and in return our family would benefit from her love.  She relented, and the plan was celebrated by all over dinner at a local burger joint.  None of us truly understood how our lives would change after that.