A few days before I went into labor, I sprawled out on the sofa, attempting to breathe through the dull ache that had settled in my lower back. Beside me lay Buddy, my loyal golden retriever, his head gently resting on my lap. His large, soulful brown eyes seemed to lock onto mine, as if he sensed that something significant was about to happen. As I absentmindedly scratched behind his ears, I felt grateful for his calming presence.
Then another wave of discomfort hit me. “Mark!” I called out, my voice strained as I reached for my phone.
From the kitchen, I heard the familiar clink of dishes. Mark was making himself a sandwich, layering turkey and cheese with the same focused calm he applied to everything in life. “Yeah, sweetheart?” he responded, not even glancing up.
I sighed, feeling the urgency settle in. “We need to figure out what to do with Buddy while we’re at the hospital. Can we ask your mom for help?”
Just a week before my due date, my doctor had scheduled an induction for the next day, and I was desperate to be free from the discomfort of pregnancy. My ankles were swollen, finding a comfortable position was nearly impossible, and every movement felt like a monumental effort.
Mark approached with his sandwich, leaning down to plant a kiss on my forehead. “Don’t worry about it, Julia. Mom loves Buddy. She’ll take care of him.”
That was Mark for you: easygoing, cheerful, and always convinced that the simplest solution was the best. It was one of the many reasons I loved him, though it also sometimes made me want to hurl a pillow at his head.
“Alright,” I replied, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Just make sure she knows it’ll only be for a few days.”
Earlier that day, Mark had called his mother, Patricia, to explain the situation. Her agreement had been immediate, and he hung up with a satisfied smile. “She’s thrilled to help. Problem solved,” he said, as if he had just brokered a historic peace deal.
I decided to let it go.
That evening, we packed our hospital bag. The next morning, we kissed Buddy goodbye, and I knelt beside the door to scratch his head. “You be a good boy for Grandma, alright?” I told him. He wagged his tail as if he understood.
Patricia arrived with a warm smile. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’d love to be at the hospital with you,” she said. This was a longstanding point of contention between us; both families had been informed that we wanted no visitors during labor. After a challenging pregnancy, I craved a serene environment, just Mark and me.
Yet, I sensed an underlying tension despite her assurances.
“Mom, you know what we decided,” Mark gently reminded her.
She laughed it off. “Sure, sure. You modern kids and your boundaries. Now go take care of my grandbaby!”
“Thanks, Patricia,” I said, and we headed out.
The scheduled induction slipped from our minds; it was just as we pulled into the hospital parking lot that my water broke.
I must emphasize that we women need to be more candid with each other about labor. I had heard stories, but nothing could have prepared me for the relentless contractions, the probing and prodding, or the primal feeling of being overtaken by a force of nature.
Throughout it all, Mark remained by my side, holding my hand, wiping my brow, and looking as though he might faint at any moment.
But when they finally placed my child in my arms, all the pain faded away. He was both wrinkled and perfect. Mark and I wept tears of joy, astonished at the life we had created together.
The next three days in the hospital were filled with a euphoric bliss as we reveled in our new roles as parents.
Once we were discharged, I couldn’t wait to introduce Buddy to his little brother and embrace our new life as a family of four.
On the drive home, Mark called Patricia to let her know we were back. She assured us she wouldn’t visit for a few days, which I appreciated.
Arriving home, we carried the baby inside, and I noticed a neatly folded piece of paper on the kitchen table.
I smiled, thinking it must be a welcome home note from Patricia. But when I opened it, my jaw dropped. The note read:
“A bill of $600 for walking and feeding Buddy. Payment required. You have my banking details.”
I blinked, convinced I had misread it. But there it was, in her impeccable handwriting: Patricia was charging us for dog-sitting while I was in labor.
“Mark!” I called, my voice strained.
He came in from the living room, where he’d been setting down the car seat. I handed him the letter, saying, “You might want to read this.”
He groaned, running his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re serious.”
“I’m dead serious. Your mother is billing us for watching Buddy while I delivered your child,” I replied.
He shook his head. “I’ll call her.”
“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll handle it.”
An idea began to form.
A week later, Patricia came over to meet the newborn. She entered with a bright smile, kissed Mark on the cheek, and immediately scooped up her grandson. “Oh, Julia, he’s a treasure! He has Mark’s nose.”
For a moment, she embodied the loving grandmother. But after returning the baby to me, she cleared her throat and casually said, “So, when can I expect that $600? I’ve been patient.”
I managed to suppress a grin. “Of course, Patricia. I’ll gladly pay you—under one condition.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What condition?”
I headed to the desk in the corner and pulled out a hefty folder I had prepared.
Over the last few days, I had meticulously documented every favor Mark and I had done for her. Just as she had billed us for watching Buddy, I had listed every incident where we had helped her out.
I slid the folder across the table toward her.
“What’s this?” she asked warily.
“An invoice,” I replied. “I thought it only fair to charge family members for favors.”
As she flipped through the pages, her lips pressed into a thin line.
I leaned closer. “Let’s see what happens. Helping you move last year? $800. A family discount, of course. And remember that time I babysat your neighbor’s kids at your request? That’s $600.”
Patricia’s jaw dropped. “This is ridiculous! You can’t charge family for helping each other!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Exactly. No one expects compensation for family favors. That’s what I thought.”
She feigned a cough. “But this is different! I had to rearrange my schedule to take care of Buddy.”
“And I had to rearrange my entire life to give birth to your grandchild,” I countered. “So, if we’re discussing fairness, I’d argue we’re even.”
Her cheeks flushed with anger. After a long pause, she turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard that it startled the baby awake.
Mark walked in from the kitchen, chuckling as he draped his arm over my shoulders. “I’ll remember never to get on your bad side,” he said.
I smiled, feeling triumphant.
As I settled onto the sofa with the baby, Buddy came over and rested his head on my knee. I scratched his ears and gazed down at my little bundle of joy.
Patricia may not have learned her lesson, but one thing was clear: I wasn’t about to pay her a dime for babysitting Buddy. And if she dared to bring it up again, well… I had my own plan in mind.
Let her test me.