(I find out I am pregnant. My fiancé is overjoyed because he is told the likelihood of him having children is very slim. We decide to have a small get-together with our immediate family to announce my pregnancy. Naturally, our families are excited and the usual question is asked.)

Husband’s Step-Dad: “So, do you want a boy or a girl?”

Me: “I think it’s a boy, but a girl would be fine.”

Husband: *snorts* “Yeah, ever since she found out she was pregnant, she’s been saying that she just knows it’s a boy.”

Mother-In-Law: *snottily* “Well, I think it’s going to be a girl. I need a granddaughter, because I already have two grandsons.” *pats my fiancé’s youngest nephew’s head*

(The room suddenly falls silent and everyone stares at her a moment before my dad changes the subject by asking if we have any ideas for names yet. Fast forward to my next ultrasound, where the tech asks if I’d like to know the sex. No surprise: it’s a boy. We call our mothers to tell them the news. I hear a shriek from my fiancé’s phone loud enough to drown out my mother and stare in shock as my fiancé holds his phone away from his ear while his mother screeches.)

Mother-In-Law: *obviously outraged* “There’s no way they can tell the sex right now! It’s too early! It’s got to be a girl!”

(My fiancé rolls his eyes and tells her that it’s definitely a boy because he saw the penis on the ultrasound and we had the photo to prove it. Fast forward several months to my baby shower:)

Aunt: “So, how long before you and [Fiancé] have another baby?”

(Before I can answer, my mother-in-law butts in.)

Mother-In-Law: “Oh, as soon as possible, so that I can have a granddaughter.”

(My aunt and a family friend exchange a look while two of my cousins whisper to each other, obviously not sure how to react to my mother-in-law’s rude behavior.)

Me: “Not likely. [Fiancé] and I have discussed it and have decided that we’re only having the one, because I don’t think I could handle the stress of more than one child.”

Aunt: *nods* “I can understand that. You don’t want to have more than you want or can care for, or you’ll resent them.”

Mother-In-Law: “Well, if they space it out so that [Son]’s in school when they have the next one, I think she could handle it.” *to me* “You have to keep having babies until I get a granddaughter.”

(There’s a collective gasp of shock, followed by dirty looks cast at my mother-in-law, then sympathetic looks for me.)

Me: “No, [Mother-In-Law]. I’m not having any more children, and that’s the end of it.”

(Sadly, that was NOT the end of it; my son will be two in a couple of months and this crazy cow STILL keeps trying to tell my now-husband and me that we “need to give [her] a granddaughter.” Little does she know, my husband is getting “the snip” when he comes home from his deployment next year.)

(I’m hosting a birthday party for nine year olds at the falconry centre where I work. We’ve just finished doing the health and safety talk.)

Me: “Okay, so any questions before we start?”

Child: “Which way does the thingymajiggy go?”

Me: “Umm… clockwise?”

Child: “Cool.” *continues as normal*

(For a few years now, several doctors have suspected that I have some form of an autoimmune disease, as I’ve had problems with excessive bleeding and joint pains most of my life. I’ve just been to a specialist, who, based on the limited information I had about my family’s medical history, concluded that the odds of me having a genetic disease are limited. I’m at my GP’s office, with a list from my mother. My mother and I have the same GP, and I’ve been seeing her my whole life.)

GP: “I know you mother has [Condition #1], and you’re saying her sister has it as well?”

Me: “Yes, and another one of her sisters has [Condition #2]. Then I have a cousin with [more severe Condition #1], and another cousin with [more severe Condition #2]. My grandmother had [Condition #3], which her mother died of.”

GP: “Luckily, no one dies from [Condition #3] today. Is your grandmother still alive?”

Me: “No, but she died of old age and stubbornness.”

GP: *chuckling* “Right. And this is all on your mother’s side?”

Me: “Yes.”

GP: *reading through the list again* “Well, I’ll send the information to [Specialist] and we’ll see if that’ll change her diagnosis.” *somewhat jokingly* “Let’s hope you get most of your genes from your father’s side.”

Me: “Really? Because Dad has epilepsy, his sister had breast cancer, they both have diabetes, and Grandpa thinks he’s back in the 1950s.”

(I work in a self-serve froyo store where customers can put toppings on their yogurt themselves. Despite the fact that every topping has a spoon in it, many people reach in and grab toppings with their hands. This was the case with a woman and her son. It was the mother that reached in with her hand while she was right in front of me.)

Me: “Ma’am, please use the spoon for the toppings.”

Customer: “I am using the spoon!”

Me: “Ma’am, I just saw you use your hands.”

Customer: “No, I didn’t!”

Customer’s Son: *nodding apologetically* “Yeah, she used her hands.”

Customer: *glares at her son*

(My parents have hosted Christmas Eve for both sides of the family as long as I can remember. Gatherings in my family are informal; a few people sit at tables for comfort or practicality, but many of us occupy couches or the floor around coffee tables. When I was growing up we lived in a large house, but my parents downsized about seven years ago. This year, for the first time since they moved, basically everyone is coming. Nobody is with in-laws, and some of the old “kids table” group have their own children now, so the total expected head count is larger than it’s ever been at their current place. Four generations will be represented. My mom can be rather uptight and is more of the planner than my dad, so I text her and ask if she wants me to bring an extra dessert, knowing we’ll have so many people. A few moments later my phone rings.)

Me: “Hi, Mom!”

Mom: “YOU AND [BOYFRIEND] CAN EAT IN OUR BED OR SITTING ON THE TOILET!”

Me: “Um… What?”

Mom: “THERE’S GOING TO BE AT LEAST THIRTY-FOUR PEOPLE, MAYBE MORE! I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I’M GOING TO PUT EVERYONE!”

Me: *laughing* “It’ll be fine! It’s always fine.”

(I can hear my dad yell to her from the background, “Nobody will care! There’s never enough chairs, anyway!”)

Mom: “WE’LL NEVER FIT!”

Me: “So, should I bring the bundt cake?”

Mom: “Yes, please! You can eat it in the bathroom, too!”