This is a throwway account.

I (29F) am currently 34 weeks pregnant with our first baby. My husband, Jake (31M), and I are beyond excited, and for the most part things have been going well—except for one major stressor: his mother, Let's call her Diane.

Diane (60F) has always been a little… intense. She’s the kind of person who believes she’s always right, always knows best, and if she’s not in control of a situation, she spirals. But pregnancy seems to have sent her into some sort of control-freak overdrive.

From the minute we announced the pregnancy, she’s treated it like her event. Not something we’re going through as a couple, but some sort of live-action roleplay of “The Grandmother’s Journey.” It started with small stuff—texting me daily with advice I never asked for, dropping off old baby clothes she insisted we “had to use,” constantly asking about names, genders, how much weight I’d gained (??). But when I set small boundaries—like asking her to text a little less or reminding her that we wouldn’t be sharing the baby’s name until after the birth—she got passive aggressive. “Oh, I guess you don’t want me involved.” “I’m just trying to help.” “This is my first grandchild, you know.”

It escalated when she found out I didn’t want her at every prenatal appointment. She showed up to one uninvited. Literally just walked into the waiting room and told the nurse she was “with me.” I was mortified. Jake had a talk with her afterward and told her she needed to back off, and to his credit, he’s been trying to stand up to her more. But Diane has always had a hold on him emotionally. Guilt trips are her specialty. He’s working on it, and I do give him grace, but it's been rough.

Then came The Name Issue.

Jake and I decided early on that we weren’t sharing the name before the baby is born. We wanted to keep that decision between us, partly because we didn’t want opinions, and partly just to preserve something special for us. We told Diane this clearly.

She did not take it well.

She kept suggesting names anyway—constantly. And not normal, “Oh I like this” suggestions. No. Diane was sending us long emails with “name origin breakdowns,” family tree spreadsheets, and pushing hard for us to name the baby Harold William, after her father. We don’t like the name. It’s not our style. And we said no, multiple times.

She kept pushing. I once caught her referring to the baby as “Little Harold” at a family barbecue. When I corrected her, she rolled her eyes and said, “You’ll come around once you realize it’s what’s right.”

She even hand-crocheted a baby blanket with Harold Jr. stitched on it. Jake told her—again—to stop, and she cried, saying I was “alienating her from her grandchild.”

Fast forward to last weekend. Jake’s grandparents hosted a big family dinner—about 20 people—sort of a spring/Easter celebration and low-key baby celebration, too. I was hesitant about going, but Jake really wanted to, and I didn’t want to start more drama.

Dinner starts off okay. A little tense—Diane was clearly giving me the cold shoulder—but fine. Then, halfway through the meal, Diane taps her wine glass with a spoon to get everyone’s attention. I’m already getting a bad feeling.

She stands up and says, “Since the baby’s arrival is getting so close, I’ve decided it’s time to share his name with the family.”

Jake and I immediately looked at each other like, what the actual hell. I shook my head slightly, trying to warn her off.

She continues: “His name will be Harold, after my beloved father. We’re so honored to welcome little Harold into the world.”

The entire room goes dead silent. Jake looks like someone just unplugged his brain. I said, calmly but clearly, “Diane, that is not the baby’s name. We’ve told you this multiple times.”

She snaps. I mean snaps.

She starts yelling that I’m manipulating Jake, that I’m “stealing her grandson,” that I’ve “pushed her out of this pregnancy” and now I’m “erasing her family legacy.” Then, in a full-blown tantrum, she grabs me and slaps me, I slapped her back.

Jake’s grandfather—bless him—stood up immediately and said, “That’s enough. I’m calling the police.” Diane screamed that she was being “assaulted,” then tried to leave, but Jake’s cousin blocked the door.

Cops came. She was arrested.

Now, the fallout that happened last week

Jake’s family is mostly on our side. Everyone saw what happened. But a few of his aunts are saying we “should’ve just let her have the name moment” and that I escalated things by challenging her publicly. My MIL is, of course, painting herself as the victim and saying I “had her arrested to punish her for loving her grandson.”