Swallowing My Frustration
Helen’s constant jabs felt like tiny needles pricking at me throughout the evening. At one point, she lifted her wine glass and chirped, “Oh honey, that dress is really doing its best!” as though my outfit was struggling just as much as I was. I forced out a smile, determined not to spark another scene. Alex nudged me, whispering, “Don’t let her bother you, Mom,” his voice a soft anchor in the chaos. I swallowed my frustration, pretending everything was fine—just like those reality show moments where everyone smiles while slowly drowning on the inside.
Swallowing My Frustration
Guessing the Gender
Eventually, the conversation drifted toward safer territory: the baby’s gender. With dessert plates scattered and glasses refilled, the room lightened as playful bets were tossed back and forth. “I bet all my cookies it’s a girl!” Uncle Ron proclaimed confidently, drawing easy laughter from everyone. For a brief moment, I relaxed, appreciating the genuine attempts to make the night enjoyable. Even Jake joined in, tapping his glass against mine and declaring, “Two to one, I’m calling it—a boy!” The small, shared excitement offered a rare moment of unity in a night full of tension.
Guessing The Gender
