I was 6 months pregnant, and I had on a loose fitting shirt and leggings that did not cover my belly because my shirt covered it. My MIL walks up to me, pulls up my shirt to expose my belly, leans in to kiss my stomach. I froze in shock when she said, “Let me kiss my baby.” All without my consent. The look on her face when I stepped back and pulled my shirt down was priceless.
A while later, I had maternity photos taken, including a few with my belly showing. When I shared them with her, she said she was surprised I felt comfortable posing like that, since I hadn’t wanted her touching my stomach before. Then she launched into a long rant about how huge my pregnant belly looked and just wouldn’t stop.
I snapped. “Boundaries, Linda! That kiss was assault on my body autonomy,” I fired back at family dinner, hubby nodding silently beside me. Her rant? Pure hypocrisy from a woman who’d birthed three kids but apparently forgot consent. She gasped, playing victim: “I was just excited for my grandbaby!” Excited doesn’t excuse violation. We went low-contact after; hubby backed me, therapy helped him see her narcissism.
Baby arrived healthy— a girl we named autonomy-inspiring “Nova.” MIL sees her supervised only, no more surprise touches. Photos? Framed in our home, shared selectively. Lesson: Pregnancy glow doesn’t invite grabs. Set ironclad rules early, or MILs will bulldoze. Now, I’m empowered mom-ing, belly laughs only on my terms.
