During my pregnancy, my mother-in-law, Sheila, acted like it was her own. She painted the nursery blue without asking, burned strange herbs to “ensure a boy,” and dictated my every move—from belly rub rituals to trying to sneak crystals into my smoothies. She was obsessed with having a grandson and made it clear that a girl would be a disappointment.

When the ultrasound predicted a boy, she was overjoyed. But life had other plans. My daughter arrived early while my husband was out of town—and the moment Sheila heard “It’s a girl,” she practically fell apart. She questioned everything: the ultrasound, my loyalty, even whether the baby was her son’s. She couldn’t even recognize her own granddaughter in the newborn room, admiring a different baby instead.That’s when I decided she needed a lesson. On discharge day, I dressed my daughter in blue and carried balloons that said “It’s a BOY.” I joked to Sheila that I had swapped babies at the hospital with a mom who wanted a girl. She lost it—and actually called CPS on me. But when the agents arrived, I calmly handed over all the documents, IDs, and hospital records.There was no issue. Everything checked out. Sheila, on the other hand, looked ridiculous.I confronted her afterward. She claimed she panicked, but I made it clear: my daughter is family, and she deserves to be loved, not judged. If Sheila wanted a place in her life, she’d have to accept her exactly as she is.