We invited my mother to stay for a month after the baby’s birth; now she wants to move in for a year and bring my father.

I haven’t been able to sleep for three nights. My conscience torments me like a raging bull, giving me no rest, not even for a minute. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, torn between duty and my own fears. All of this because I’m eight months pregnant, and my life is about to change forever.

After the wedding, I moved with my husband to another city, far from my childhood home in a small village near Burgos, hundreds of kilometers away. My parents stayed there, and we rarely see each other — sometimes they come visit us, sometimes we go to them, but those visits can be counted on one hand.

Recently, during one of those visits, my mother and I were sitting in the tiny kitchen of our apartment. With a cup of tea in her hands, she started sharing memories about how hard it was when I was born. She told me how she had been completely alone with a baby in her arms, exhausted to the point of tears, and how only her mother — my grandmother — saved her from total despair. Her words deeply moved me. I imagined myself in her shoes — lost, helpless, holding a newborn. And without even thinking much about it, I said:
— Mom, come stay with us after the baby is born. Stay for a while and help me out.

Her eyes lit up. She looked thrilled, as if I had just given her a second chance at life. But then she immediately caught me off guard:
— Oh, we’d love to! We’ll stay for a year — your father and I! We’ll rent out our apartment to help you financially.

I froze, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on me. Her words echoed in my head like a bell. I love my father with all my heart — he means the world to me. But I only invited my mother. And not for a year — just a few weeks, a month at most, until I could find my footing and figure out how to be a mom. A whole year — and with Dad?

I could already picture the scene: my dad, like always, going out on the balcony to smoke. When we’re alone, I usually try to ignore the smell of tobacco that sticks to everything. But with a baby? I don’t want my child breathing that smoke, those tiny lungs struggling with that harsh odor. And in the winter? My father opening and closing the balcony door, letting in freezing cold air. I already see my child coughing, getting sick, while I go crazy trying to protect him.

And that’s not all. My dad gets bored at our place. He has nothing to do. Either he spends the day watching TV — old movies at full volume — or he drags my husband out for beers and they disappear until late at night. I don’t mind him relaxing, but with a newborn at home, I need my husband nearby — not off drinking with his father-in-law. I imagined that whole year: noise, smoke, constant interruptions… and everything inside me tightened with fear.

Summoning my courage, I spoke to my mother honestly:
— Mom, I’m only inviting you. And not for a year — just for a month, no more.

Her face darkened, and her eyes filled with disappointment. She answered firmly:
— If your father can’t come, I’m not coming either. It’s both of us, or neither of us.
And she left, leaving me in an overwhelming silence.

Now I sit, staring at nothing, feeling my soul fall to pieces. Did I do the right thing? Was I too harsh? Should I have said yes, swallowed my fears for my mother’s happiness? But how could I survive a year like that, if just imagining it already makes me feel suffocated?

My conscience whispers that I’m selfish — that my mother only wants to help and I’ve pushed her away. But my heart shouts that I won’t be able to handle it. I want to protect my child, my home, this new life I’m about to begin. I don’t know what to do. I lie awake at night, listening to the calm breathing of my husband beside me, and I wonder: what if I’m wrong? What if my mother is right and I’m denying her the chance to be present during a once-in-a-lifetime moment? Or maybe I’m right, and I need to defend my boundaries before they collapse under the weight of someone else’s expectations?

What do you think? Where is the truth? I’m drowning in these thoughts… and I need a light to guide me out of the darkness.