In the early days, I felt incredibly fortunate. My mother would wake up early to prepare breakfast, simmer soups, and buy fresh fruits, always reminding us to eat well. After returning from the market, she’d bring a portion of food to each of our rooms.
However, as time passed, I noticed she spent more time with my sister-in-law. Every morning, she’d check in on her, asking if she slept well or if she felt nauseous, and personally bring her a glass of prenatal milk.
Whenever my sister-in-law had a prenatal checkup, my mother would accompany her, meticulously asking the doctor questions and jotting notes in a small notebook. As for me, while my mother still asked about my well-being and cooked my favorite dishes, she’d often just say, “If you’re feeling well, come downstairs and eat with the family.”
Many times, I told myself not to compare. But pregnant women are naturally more sensitive. Even the slightest difference in attention was enough to make me feel a pang of sadness.
Illustrative image.
One day, my mother prepared bird’s nest soup and divided it between us. My sister-in-law’s portion was slightly larger because, as my mother explained, the doctor advised her to nourish herself more. On another occasion, my mother washed my sister-in-law’s clothes because she was tired, while I still helped fold the laundry since I was feeling well.
These were all small things, but they added up, making me feel like the “less favored” one.
One evening, after lying awake for a long time, I turned to my husband and said, “I feel like your mother loves her more than me.”
I expected him to tell me I was overthinking. Instead, he gently held my hand and said just four words: “I’ll take care of you.”
The next day, he set his alarm earlier to prepare breakfast for me, instead of relying on my mother as usual. Every lunchtime, he’d text to ask what I’d like to eat, and in the evenings, he’d take me for walks around the neighborhood.
Occasionally, he’d take me out to eat without insisting we join the family meal, something I wanted but never dared to ask for.
Once, in the middle of the night, I craved flan, and he drove several miles just to get it from the place I liked. He never told my mother she was right or that I was wrong. He simply quietly filled the void in my heart.
Illustrative image.
One afternoon, my mother-in-law called me into her room. I was nervous, wondering if my husband had spoken to her. She said she noticed I’d been quieter lately and guessed something was bothering me.
Then she explained that my sister-in-law had experienced a threatened miscarriage in the early months. The doctor advised her to limit movement, avoid stress, and have someone by her side constantly. At that time, my brother-in-law was often away on business trips, so my mother became her primary caregiver.
My mother looked at me apologetically: “I know I’ve been prioritizing her a bit more. It’s not because I love you any less, but because I was worried about her health. I thought you were strong and had your husband by your side, so you wouldn’t feel left out. I’m sorry for unintentionally hurting your feelings.”
Hearing her words, I realized things weren’t as negative as I’d thought. My mother still cared for me. She still bought my favorite milk, reminded me to take vitamins, and asked if the baby was kicking often. It’s just that most of her time and worry were devoted to the one with a higher-risk pregnancy. From that day on, she changed.
Whenever she cooked something nourishing, she’d call both of us downstairs to eat together. She’d often ask if I was craving anything so she could buy it the next day. And I stopped comparing. I understood that in a family, love can’t always be measured equally.
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