Caution: whiny post ahead.

There should be a law against weekend visitors in the first trimester. Unless they are the kind who are self-sufficient, love to clean up your house, and leave you the hell alone when you’re not feeling well. Unfortunately, we weren’t so lucky.

Oh, in-laws. Oh, in-laws where one of them happens to be your old boss. (Long story short: I married my former boss’s stepson. It was a lot less creepy than it sounds.) My husband and I have been married just under a year, so I’m still figuring out the whole new family dynamic. Even though I’ve known these people for awhile, they’ve only recently become “family” and I struggle with even considering them in that way. It doesn’t help that former boss/step-MIL is constantly pushing the family thing down my throat. She hates the delineation  of “step,” “half,” “ex,” “in-law,” etc. when those titles are precisely what make me comfortable. But, I digress.

The visit started out well because we were able to share our pregnancy news in person for the first time with family. Of course their reactions were lovely, albeit a bit awkward when my step-MIL declares that this will be their “fifth grandchild” when there are NO grandchildren on my husband’s side of the family; she was referring to her kids’ kids. They asked how I was feeling, and I shared that so far, the first trimester had me feeling dog tired nearly every single day. (My charming step-MIL just had to share how she LOVED being pregnant and never had any nausea, fatigue, or any other symptom. On behalf of every other pregnant woman I know, I say–screw  you, lady.) In other words, please don’t expect me to be feeling up to too much while you’re in town. 

But y’all, they didn’t get the hint. On Saturday I actually felt normal enough to drink coffee for the first time in weeks, eat vegetables, and go on not one but two hikes with them. Very much like getting over the flu, I felt just well enough to act normally, only to fall back into debilitating fatigue later that day and for the rest of their visit. On Sunday, the only time I got up was to pee and to eat whatever food my lovely husband had prepared. The rest of the time I was holed up in our bedroom, eating saltines and crying while watching The Odd Life of Timothy Green. Meanwhile, my poor husband is trying desperately to balance caring for his pitiful pregnant wife with “entertaining” the step MIL with trips to museums, farmers markets, and other things he would rather not be doing.

On top of that, both of them are pretty judgmental about food and eating. When preparing brunch, my husband was pulling out some biscuits to bake in addition to the pancakes he was making. My FIL was visibly appalled that more than one bread item would be served and made a huge ordeal about how he wouldn’t dare eat one in addition to the pancakes. Of course, the reason my husband was making them was because I wanted one, and I felt like a total idiot for consuming more than one bread product at a sitting. I mean, can you even imagine a worse food crime?! Later that day, the only thing that sounded good to me was potato chips  dipped in sour cream, but I was too embarrassed to get them myself. So I had my husband get them for me and ate in the privacy of our room. Later we had a good laugh when my FIL stated that he was “eaten out” from the weekend. I tried so hard not to crack up at that.

The thing is, I do understand that part of hosting is entertaining your guests and trying to please them as much as possible (and we generally LOVE having guests and showing them around our area), but as a houseguest, I also think that you have to go with the flow of the situation and not be overly demanding, especially when one of your hosts can’t get out of bed because she’s gestating your future grandchild. In the end, they decided to leave a day early which was probably for the best for all involved, as I could go back to eating my chips and dip in the living room again.

Lesson learned: no extended visits from anyone until I hit thirteen weeks!