But barely half a day later, her overprotectiveness was getting to me. She hovered over the doctors during their rounds, bombarding them with questions and insisting they guarantee the assault hadn't harmed the baby.
The doctor's patience wore thin, and he laid it out straight.
"Are you actually her mother? Normally, someone with fractures and potential brain injuries needs rest. Pregnancy itself drains a lot of energy, let alone coupled with injuries. Are you overestimating what her body can handle?"
"There's no rule that says a woman who's had trouble conceiving can't get pregnant again. Why the rush to have kids when she's so young? Maybe life's been too smooth and she's looking for a challenge?"
Mom finally let the doctor go after a bit of grumbling.
I sighed. Mom's life has been pretty cushioned. Married straight out of college, with housekeepers and nannies doing all the heavy lifting. Having me was her major life event.
Her tactless nature isn't new—usually, I'm the one cleaning up her messes. But this time, I just didn't have the energy.
I planned to just suck it up and suggested that I handle talking to the doctor, but she kept accidentally hurting my broken leg.