When my husband and I decided on a home birth, my MIL insisted she had to be there to “help” and “support us.”

I figured it would be nice to have her around, so I agreed. But when I went into labor, I noticed something strange. She kept slipping in and out of the room, glancing over her shoulder as if she had somewhere else to be.

Then, during a break between contractions, I heard a STRANGE SOUND.
My husband went to check and came back absolutely PALE. Turns out, while I was giving birth, my MIL was having a “COME TO THE WORLD” Christian religious gathering in our living room—for my baby.

Apparently, she had invited a small group of her church friends, and they were in the middle of some kind of cleansing ritual to “purify his soul” before he even took his first breath. There were candles, singing, and what I can only describe as a makeshift baptismal font set up in my own home.

I could barely register what my husband was saying before another contraction hit, but when the pain subsided, I saw the horror in his eyes. He was terrified—not of the birth, but of his mother.

“Stop them,” I managed to gasp. “Now.”

He hesitated—because it was his mother, because he knew how deep her religious beliefs ran—but he nodded and left. I could hear him arguing in hushed but frantic whispers.

Then, something snapped in me. I was giving birth to my child, and this woman was treating it like some kind of exorcism.

I forced myself up between contractions, stormed out of the bedroom, sweaty, panting, wearing nothing but a loose hospital gown—and saw them. A handful of people in their Sunday best, murmuring prayers, swaying with their hands in the air, and my MIL in the center of it all, leading them.

“GET OUT,” I screamed.

Everyone froze. My MIL’s eyes went wide. “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t be up! You’re in labor!”

“EXACTLY,” I shot back. “And instead of supporting me, you’re trying to sneak my baby into a religious ceremony I don’t believe in!”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t understand, dear. This is about his soul. He needs this.”

I couldn’t even speak. I was LIVID. Another contraction hit, and I doubled over. My husband rushed to my side, glaring at his mother. “Mom, I swear to God, if you don’t leave right now—”

She gasped. “Swearing to God? Oh, honey, this is exactly why your baby needs saving!”

That did it. My husband physically ushered her and her church group out the front door. As they left, my MIL called out, “You’ll thank me one day!” before the door slammed shut.

I didn’t have the energy to deal with it right then—I barely had the energy to make it back to the bed before the next contraction hit—but in that moment, I made a decision. She was NOT going to be left alone with my child. Ever.

I hoped, foolishly, that she’d drop it once the baby was born. Maybe she’d see his little face and just be a grandma instead of some religious fanatic on a mission.

I was wrong.

It started with small things. She’d visit and “accidentally” hum hymns when rocking him. She’d talk about how “blessed” he was to have a Christian grandmother. Then, she started leaving Bible storybooks around our house, subtly wedging them onto shelves or tucking them under baby blankets.

I told my husband we needed to set firm boundaries. He agreed, but he still struggled with guilt—after all, she was his mother.

Then, one day, I caught her pressing a small cross to my baby’s forehead while whispering prayers.

I snapped.

“What are you doing?”

She jerked her hand away like she’d been burned. “Oh, nothing, dear, just a little blessing.”

“No. No more ‘blessings.’ No more church talk. No more religious ceremonies. You need to stop.”

She sighed, as if I were the difficult one. “I don’t understand why you’re so against something so beautiful.”

I took a deep breath. “Because it’s not beautiful to me. I am his mother, and I will decide what is best for him. You had your chance to raise your kids how you wanted. This is MY turn.”

She smiled sweetly—which was honestly more terrifying than if she had yelled. “Of course, dear. I respect that.”

She left shortly after. And for a while, things were calm.

A few weeks later, my husband’s phone rang. He answered, and after a few seconds, his face turned to stone.

“You’re joking,” he said. But he wasn’t laughing.

He hung up and looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Mom arranged a church ceremony for the baby. It’s happening this weekend.”

I felt my stomach drop.

“She—WHAT?”

Apparently, my MIL had spoken to a pastor, chosen godparents, and planned the whole thing behind our backs. She was going to take our baby to church and have him baptized—without our consent.

“That’s it,” I said, shaking with rage. “She’s done. She’s not seeing him anymore. Ever.”

My husband was quiet for a long moment. Then, he nodded. “I’ll handle it.”

When we showed up at her house the next day, she greeted us like nothing was wrong.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she cooed at the baby in my arms. “You’ll be so blessed this weekend—”

“Mom,” my husband cut her off. “It’s not happening. We’re not coming. And you’re not seeing him for a long time.”

Her face twisted. “I don’t understand! I’m just trying to do what’s best for him!”

“No, you’re trying to do what’s best for you.“ I said. “You don’t respect me, you don’t respect my decisions as a parent, and you keep crossing the line. This is your last chance. Either you accept that you are just a grandmother, or you won’t be in his life at all.”

She opened her mouth—probably to argue—but something about my husband’s dead-serious expression must have stopped her.

“I… I only wanted to protect his soul,” she said quietly.

“That’s not your job,” my husband said. “It’s ours.”

She started crying, saying we were “ripping her grandson away” from her. But this time, we didn’t back down. We left.

And for the first time since my son was born, I felt peace.

Some people believe so deeply in what they think is right that they’ll trample over other people’s boundaries to make it happen. And sometimes, those people are family.

Setting boundaries doesn’t make you a bad person. Enforcing them doesn’t make you cruel.

It makes you a good parent.

What do you think? Have you ever had to set hard boundaries with family? Let’s talk about it. Like, share, and comment!