— “My grandma’s coming to stay with us… for a couple of weeks,” Kostya managed, and Rita realized that pregnancy and the upcoming birth were nothing compared to the nightmare rolling their way.
Svetlana Ivanovna, her husband’s grandmother, looked lively and energetic at sixty-five. It seemed she had more energy than all the young people put together. But her main feature was that she hardly had any thoughts of her own left: they all belonged to the bloggers she followed. The moment she opened her mouth, out spilled other people’s tips, other people’s truths, other people’s wisdom.
When she visited Rita and her grandson, the first thing she did was share social-media news. She’d talk about marketplace purchases she’d made on advice from influencers—what worked and what was a waste of money. Then she’d move on to diseases and which methods were best for treating warts and calluses. If earlier Rita had smiled indulgently and endured such visits, it became truly unbearable when Svetlana Ivanovna learned she would soon be a great-grandmother.
“I subscribed to two dozen ‘young mom’ accounts!” she announced proudly, arriving to stay and settling into an armchair with her phone in hand. “So, one dad-blogger from the channel ‘Fifty Times a Dad’ said the best sleep schedule for pregnant women is from nine p.m. to seven a.m.”
“Svetlana Ivanovna, I don’t get back from the pool until ten,” Rita replied calmly. She considered herself a night owl and hated going to bed early. She simply couldn’t fall asleep. And only some truly urgent need could get her up at seven in the morning.
“You should swim in the morning, from seven to ten,” the grandmother continued without batting an eye.
“I’m asleep then, and I work from ten,” Rita sighed.
“At your stage you can already stop working, or at least switch to half days.”
“And who’s going to provide for the family?”
“Kostya, who else!” the grandmother said, genuinely surprised.
“My job is remote—I’ll be working even on maternity leave, because my salary is twice as big,” Rita couldn’t help retorting. “And besides, we’ve got a car loan!”
“Why do you need a car?” Svetlana Ivanovna perked up. “The blogger ‘Mother With No Money’ moved her whole family to bicycles! Healthy, eco-friendly, cheap!”
Rita looked at her sizable belly and had to stifle a laugh.
“Perfect with this bump. If you wish your great-grandson all the best, you won’t let me near a bicycle. And your grandson, Kostya, with his hernia, shouldn’t either.”
But arguments like that couldn’t pierce Svetlana Ivanovna. She just waved it off and put on a new video from a pregnancy-nutrition blog that preached sprouted buckwheat and breathing practices. What’s more, her husband’s grandmother went further: deciding to cook some healthy superfood for her “lazy” daughter-in-law, she clattered around the kitchen with pots. The smells twisted Rita’s stomach so badly that, for the first time in the entire pregnancy, she threw up.
That very evening she packed a bag and went to her mother’s.
Kostya was not thrilled about his wife’s move. He tried to gently hint to his grandmother that her visits were a tad… excessive.
“Gran, when are you planning to move out?”
“I thought I’d live with you until the birth, and then after. I’ll help,” Svetlana Ivanovna said serenely.
“I think we’ll manage on our own. You should head home, really. Your flowers will dry up without your love and care,” Kostya forced himself to say.
They did manage to send Svetlana Ivanovna off—but not for long. As soon as Rita gave birth, his grandmother was back at the door. And not with diapers or formula, as the new mother had hoped, but with a mountain of bright toys, activity mats, and books—apparently at the cost of her pension and half her savings.
“We have nowhere to put all this! It would’ve been better if you’d brought formula or diapers—something useful!” Rita was upset.
“I meant it from the bottom of my heart! You just don’t understand anything!” the grandmother huffed, but she got over it quickly.
The next day Granny decided to do a “white-sock” floor test around her daughter-in-law’s home and a “white-glove” dust check, like the bloggers did. She went even further: she stepped out into the stairwell and walked around in those same white socks.
“Dirty! Very dirty!” was her verdict. She took off the socks and sent them, together with a complaint, to the housing management office. And she gave Rita and Kostya a lecture: healthy children only grow up in a clean home.
“I’ll wash the floor,” said Kostya, “or you could—after all, it’s not like you have anything else to do.”
“I’m sixty-five! I didn’t come as a guest to scrub your floors,” she waved him off, turning on another blogger’s show. She’d “done her part,” and that was that. The place wasn’t actually any cleaner, but Grandma’s conscience was crystal clear.
One evening, watching Rita make formula for the baby, she shook her head. Rita pretended to be busy and kept feeding the child.
When the baby finally fell asleep, Rita quietly sat down to work. Svetlana Ivanovna went to the kitchen, clinked something, and came back.
When it was time to feed her son again, the formula was gone.
“I don’t understand—there was a full box! Kostya! Did you put it somewhere?”
“No… I saw it in the drawer… And now it’s empty! I’ll check the balcony.”
Kostya went out to the balcony.
“You should be feeding him breast milk,” the grandmother noted.
“I should! But I don’t have milk! And we have formula! Or rather, had… Svetlana Ivanovna, did you see where the formula went?!” Rita narrowed her eyes.
The old lady didn’t answer. She looked at Rita reproachfully, then suddenly stood up, spread her arms, and started some kind of strange dance: a step to the side, a clap, a swaying.
“Repeat!” she ordered.
“What are you doing?!” Rita recoiled.
“Exercises to improve lactation!” the grandmother declared confidently. “Two stamps, three claps—and the milk will flow like a river! Do as I do! It’s not right to feed a baby chemicals!”
“To improve lactation?!” Rita was stunned. “You seriously think two stamps and three claps will help?! You’ve lost your mind.”
“I haven’t lost anything! The blogger ‘Unwise Mother’ recommended it recently! She has a million subscribers and ten million children, and who are you to doubt her? Come on, do it!”
“Ten million children? You really are not all there…” Rita muttered.
“Ten children, I said. You need to rinse your ears. Take hydrogen peroxide, baking soda…”
“Enough! Where’s the formula?!” Rita ground out.
“I threw it all away! No need to poison the baby with that filth!”
The baby woke from their shouting and started crying. Rita’s nerves snapped: she grabbed a suitcase and began packing the child’s things.
“There’s no formula… I didn’t find it…” Kostya came back in from the balcony. “What is going on here?! Rita, where are you going?”
“Of course there isn’t! Svetlana Ivanovna threw it all out! I’m going to my mom’s! You can live with this blogger-grandma! Let her dance and parade around in socks! And drip peroxide on her head! Maybe it’ll clear her brain out!”
“Wait! Rita, let’s talk, calmly… I’ll fix everything! I’ll run to the store now and buy a can of formula—don’t go…” Kostya tried to stop her. Rita slammed the wardrobe door and burst into tears.
The evening was awful. The baby whimpered, Rita stayed silent, Kostya brought a new pack of formula, shooting the grandmother with withering looks. He was furious about the expensive cans of food they’d already spent good money on.
As for Svetlana Ivanovna, she went to bed early. And in the morning she was quiet and stopped giving advice.
Closer to noon, the doorbell rang. On the threshold stood Evelina Romanovna, Kostya’s mother, with a large bag.
Rita no longer knew what to expect and braced for anything…
And her mother-in-law surprised her: she said hello, came in, cuddled her grandson, and calmly said:
“Svetlana Ivanovna, get your things.”
“Where to?” the grandmother was taken aback.
“Home. The young ones will manage on their own. You’ve helped as much as you could.”
Svetlana Ivanovna sighed, realized arguing was useless, and began packing. Evelina Romanovna went over to Rita, patted her shoulder, and said quietly:
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t take her earlier—I was on a business trip. I bought you several cans of formula to replace what our granny threw out.”
“Thank you… We… we almost divorced because of your son.”
“I almost divorced Kostya’s father because of her once too. My mother-in-law made my life a misery. She used to watch TV and read newspapers, and now she follows bloggers and takes everything at face value. I’ll never forget how she treated hemorrhoids with a cucumber.”
At that, Rita laughed so loudly she could barely stop. She remembered a ridiculous video by some quack healer and realized that all you could do with Svetlana Ivanovna was understand and forgive her.
“I’ll come visit you again—don’t miss me,” Svetlana Ivanovna said once her things were packed and the taxi pulled up to the entrance.
“Yes, yes—after the rain on Thursday,” Rita nodded, delighted that her husband’s grandmother was heading out.
Three days passed. Kostya asked cautiously:
“Well, happy now?”
“Yes. Although there’s one thing…”
“What?”
“Either I started producing milk from the joy of living in peace again, or your grandma’s dance worked,” Rita smiled.
Kostya smiled back. What mattered to him was that the baby was full and his wife was content.
