A few days before I went into labor, I was lying on the sofa trying to breathe through the dull ache building in my lower back all morning. Buddy, my golden retriever, lay beside me with his head softly resting on my lap. His big brown eyes locked on me, as if he sensed something…
A few days before I went into labor, I was lying on the sofa trying to breathe through the dull ache building in my lower back all morning.
Buddy, my golden retriever, lay beside me with his head softly resting on my lap. His big brown eyes locked on me, as if he sensed something was about to happen. As I stroked behind his ears, I appreciated his calm presence.
“It’s happening!” I called to my husband Mark, my voice strained as I reached for the phone.
From the kitchen, I heard a dish clink. Mark was making himself a sandwich, piling turkey and cheese with the same calm focus he applied to everything.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he said without looking up.
I sighed. “We need to figure out what to do with Buddy while I’m in the hospital. Can we ask your mom for help?”
A week before my due date, my doctor had scheduled an induction for the next day. I was beyond ready to be done carrying this baby. My ankles were swollen, I couldn’t find a comfortable position, and every movement felt like it might break me in two.
Mark came over with his sandwich and kissed my forehead. “Don’t worry, Julia. Mom loves Buddy. She’ll take care of him.”
That was Mark—easygoing, cheerful, always thinking the easiest option was the best. It was one of the reasons I loved him…and also why I sometimes wanted to throw a pillow at his head.
“Okay,” I said, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Just make sure she knows it’s only for a few days.”
That day, Mark called his mom Patricia and explained everything. She agreed without hesitation. He hung up, smiling.
“She said she’s happy to help. Problem solved,” he said, like he’d just brokered world peace.
That evening, we packed our hospital bag. The next morning, we kissed Buddy goodbye. I knelt at the door and scratched his head.
“Be a good boy for Grandma, okay?” I told him. His tail wagged—he seemed to understand.
Patricia smiled warmly. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’d love to be there with you at the hospital.”
But there was always tension between us. Both our families knew we wanted no visitors at the hospital. My pregnancy had been hard, and I wanted a peaceful birth with just Mark and me.
I could tell Patricia was still a bit bitter, despite her words.
Mark reminded her gently, “Mom, you know what we decided.”
She laughed. “Sure, sure, I know. You young people and your rules. Now go take care of my grandchild.”
I thanked her, and we left.
The induction wasn’t even necessary. My water broke as we pulled into the hospital parking lot.
Honestly, women need to be more honest with each other about labor. I’d heard stories, but nothing prepared me for the hours of blinding contractions, the poking and prodding, or the primal feeling of my body taken over by something unstoppable.
Mark stayed by my side the whole time—holding my hand, wiping my brow, sometimes looking like he’d pass out.
But when they finally put our baby in my arms, every ounce of pain disappeared. He was tiny and wrinkled but perfect. Mark and I cried tears of shock and joy. We had made this little miracle.
The next three days in the hospital were pure happiness—just the three of us and the overwhelming joy of new parenthood.
When we got home, I couldn’t wait to introduce Buddy to his little brother and start our new life as a family of four.
On the way, Mark called Patricia to let her know we’d arrived safely. She promised to wait a few days before visiting the baby. I thought that was really kind.
Back at the house, I brought the baby inside while Mark went to the kitchen. On the table was a neatly folded piece of paper.
I smiled, thinking Patricia had left a sweet welcome home note. But when I opened it, holding the baby in my arms, the message read:
“You owe me $600 for walking and feeding Buddy. I have to charge for my time. You have my banking info.”
I thought I must have misread it. But no—it was her neat handwriting. She was charging us for dog-sitting while I was in labor.
“Mark!” I called, my voice trembling.
He came in from the living room, where he’d been setting up the car seat.
I handed him the note. “You should read this.”
After he read it, he groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe this.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “Your mom is billing us for watching Buddy while I was giving birth.”
He shook his head. “I’ll call her.”
“No,” I interrupted quickly. “I’ll handle it.”
A plan was already forming in my mind.
A week later, Patricia came over to see the baby. She smiled, kissed Mark on the cheek, then eagerly held her grandson.
“Oh Julia, he’s a treasure,” she said. “He has Mark’s nose.”
For a moment, she seemed like a doting grandma. Then she handed the baby back and cleared her throat.
“So, when can I expect that $600? I’ve been patient.”
I kept my smile. “Of course, Patricia. I’ll pay you—if you meet one condition.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What condition?”
After putting the baby in his bassinet, I grabbed a large folder I’d prepared.
Over the past few days, I’d documented every favor Mark and I had done for her—every cost, every time we’d gone out of our way. Just like she did charging us for dog-sitting.
I slid the folder across the table.
She looked wary. “What’s this?”
“An invoice,” I said softly. “If we’re charging family for favors, I thought I’d do the same.”
As she flipped through the pages, her lips pressed tight.
I leaned in. “Let’s see how this goes. Helping you with your car transmission last year? $800, and that’s a family discount. Paying $1,200 for the repair. Babysitting your neighbor’s kids when you asked? $600.”
Patricia’s jaw dropped. “This is crazy! Family doesn’t charge each other for favors!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Exactly. Nobody in family expects payment. That’s what I thought, too.”
She cleared her throat. “But this is different! I had to change my schedule to take care of Buddy.”
I calmly said, “And I had to rearrange my whole life to give birth to your grandchild. So if we’re talking fair payment, we’re even.”
Her cheeks flushed. She stared at me a long moment, then spun and stormed out, slamming the door so hard it made the baby cry.
Mark came in laughing, putting his arm around me. “Remember, never get on my wife’s bad side.”
I smiled. “Good plan.”
As I settled on the sofa with the baby, Buddy came over and rested his head on my knee. I scratched his ears, looking down at the little bundle in my arms.
Patricia may not have learned her lesson yet, but one thing was clear: I wasn’t paying her a single cent. And if she tried again… well, I still had that invoice.