I am the Mama!

We returned from visiting my husband's family in North Carolina yesterday, and now we're all on diets.  Ray and I because southern food really is what Paula Deen cooks, B because his grandmother clearly thinks that he is malnourished when she is not around.

Grandparents, in general, seem to have at once incredible memory and incredible amnesia.  They can be hard-pressed to believe that anything can change in 30 years, and yet not recall that they had rules and worries for their own children that they wished to have respected.  Sometimes they seem to forget who the parent is this time. The problem with in-laws is that they're not as easy to chastise as your own parents.

So B, who usually eats pretty well, chowed down on grits and sausage, fried shrimp, and banana pudding.  He also snacked often and walked around with a cookie. At a memorable moment my husband, at his mother's urging, fed him coleslaw, although I said that he didn't need any and he wouldn't like it.  And do you know what he did?  He gagged and threw up a little.  Oh wait, I was right?  I know my own child?  That's because I'm the Mama!

We also spent significant amounts of time at wholly unchildproofed homes.  Now I am not the type of mother who carries outlet covers in my purse, but I do reserve the right to become a helicopter parent in these situations.  Several people told me to "just let him go, he won't hurt anything."  I looked around; there were ceramics and glassware within easy reach, unsecured kitchen cupboards and drawers, open bathroom doors, and tables and chair to climb on.  He won't hurt anything (nor will it hurt him)?  PLEASE, I am the Mama!  I know what he will hurt!

Objectively I know that they mean well, but sometimes I just feel like shouting: "Stop telling me how to parent!  I am the Mama!"