Can’t You See? That’s Not Your Daughter – Are You Totally Oblivious?

My future husband and I had only been together for a matter of months when we decided to tie the knot. I naively thought that meeting his mother would be a formality; little did I know that her icy stares and suspicious mutterings about me and later about our daughter, who arrived punctually after our wedding would become a regular feature of our lives. The trouble, apparently, was our daughter emerging as the dictionary definition of ‘English rose’: golden hair, big blue eyes, radiating innocence. My husband, on the other hand, sported dark curls and olive skin, as did his younger brother.

When we were still at Queen Marys Maternity, my mother-in-law rang to offer half-hearted congratulations and expressed an eagerness to meet her granddaughter. The grand unveiling took place in the hospitals unlovely lobby, whereupon my mother-in-law promptly looked as though shed bitten into a sour lemon and asked, Are you quite sure you left with the right baby?

My friends and the hospital staff stood gobsmacked, while my mother-in-law glared expectantly at me for a confession. I stuttered something about having been with the baby at all times, so a swap was quite impossible.

My mother-in-laws next (unspoken) accusation was plain as day on her pursed lips, though she kept mum for the moment. It wasnt long, however, before she verbalised her doubts at our flat, just as we were adjusting to life with a newborn. That cant be your daughter. Cant either of you see? she said, as though wed brought home a cat instead of a baby.

My husband was so stunned that he stood rooted to the spot, but his mother pressed on, relentless. She doesnt look the slightest bit like you, or her mother use your head! How do you think this happened? Someone else is the father, obviously!

At that, my husband firmly showed her to the door. I was left in tears; wed dreamt of this moment for months and, after a rather dramatic pregnancy, I was overjoyed to finally hold my healthy, pink, thoroughly indignant baby girl. The midwife had laughed and said, What a pair of lungs! Born to sing at the Royal Albert Hall, that one!

Back then, Id imagined our homecoming would be a jolly, tea-and-victoria-sponge sort of affair. Instead, thanks to my mother-in-law, we got a scandal. After shed gone, my husband did his best to cheer me up, and we sat down at the table, but the mood had decidedly soured. From then on, my mother-in-law was like a dog with a bone: phoning my husband constantly, dropping in uninvited, and never passing up an opportunity to make a snarky remark about my granddaughter. She refused to hold the baby, pestered my husband about paternity tests, and whispered about genetic proof whenever she thought I was out of earshot. My husband told her, again and again, that he trusted me and loved his daughter but shed just laugh and say, Well, lets check then!

Eventually, in the middle of yet another lecture in our kitchen, I decided enough was enough. Right! I announced, Lets get a lovely frame for the test results. You can hang it over your bed and admire your legitimate granddaughter to your hearts content!

My mother-in-laws eyes practically sparked, but she couldnt think of a retort, and Id laid on the sarcasm with a trowel.

So, off we scampered for a paternity test. My husband didnt even bother reading the results; he knew perfectly well what theyd say. When we handed them over, my mother-in-law barely glanced at the paper before shoving it back at me. I couldnt resist a gentle jab: So, did you want the frame in oak or a nice dark walnut?

She bristled: You must be having a laugh! Bet you paid someone for this! Apparently, all other family babies looked unmistakably like their dads: brown-eyed, olive-skinned, and so forth. In short, the long-awaited test did nothing to change her mind, and our epic battle continued.

Five years zipped by amid ongoing family tiffs and eye-rolling. I found myself expecting our second child just after my brother-in-laws wife, who was also pregnant again. Thankfully, we got on well, though even they occasionally raised their eyebrows at my mother-in-laws unwavering conspiracy theories.

When the new niece arrived, we all trooped round to welcome her home. I peeked under her lacy blanket and nearly doubled over with laughter this baby was the spitting image of my own daughter, all blue eyes and blonde curls. Everyone looked at me, baffled; between giggles, I quipped, Come on, admit it! Who was up to mischief with my imaginary secret paramour?

The family got the joke straight away. There were a few chuckles, and even my husband grinned but my mother-in-law was mortified, cheeks flaming red. She didnt say a word. After that, a thaw set in: slowly, she stopped her barbed comments, and to my astonishment one day I found her on the floor, playing tea parties with our daughter. The frost had finally melted.

Now, my eldest is her pride and joy our darling girl, my little berry and so on and my mother-in-law showers her with gifts, spoiling her silly and making up for lost time. I let bygones be bygones, although, as the old joke goes, theres still a bit of a residue. Maybe, with a lot of tea and a smidge of grace, it will fade away.