My husband, Jake, has a female best friend, Sam. They met at work, bonding over their similar careers, and she quickly became part of our social circle. At first, Sam and I got along great. We shared a love for music, and she seemed genuinely nice.
But everything changed when I got pregnant. After we announced the news, Sam texted Jake to congratulate him and asked him to pass along her well wishes to me. I didn’t think much of it until she started texting Jake constantly with unsolicited baby advice—mostly critiques about my diet and lifestyle.
Jake, sensing my growing discomfort, showed me the messages. I told him to ignore them, thinking she’d get the hint. But Sam didn’t. She became more involved, acting like an authority on pregnancy and motherhood.
When it came time to plan my baby shower, I was thrilled to let my mom and sister take the reins. I sent out invitations to close friends and family, including Sam, assuming she’d attend as a guest. Instead, she texted me, offering to host the entire thing herself.
“Thanks, Sam, but my mom and sister are already handling it,” I replied politely.
The next day, Sam showed up unannounced, carrying boxes of decorations and a detailed menu for the event. She was insistent, telling me her menu was “healthier” for me and the baby and criticizing the traditional cake-and-snacks approach my family had planned.
I firmly told her we were sticking to the original plan, but Sam wouldn’t back down. She kept pushing, her tone turning more condescending with every word. That’s when I knew I had to give her a reality check.
The perfect idea hit me.
The day of the shower, I made sure Sam’s name was prominently displayed on the seating chart—as a guest. I had my mom and sister help set up everything early, decorating the venue with the warm, cozy theme we’d planned. When Sam arrived, I greeted her warmly, thanked her for coming, and handed her a small task.
“Could you help the other guests write messages for the baby’s memory book?” I asked.
She blinked, clearly expecting to take charge, but I maintained a polite smile, making it clear her role was that of a participant, not a planner.
Throughout the event, every time Sam tried to offer advice or redirect the attention to herself, I gently redirected it back to the celebration. When she brought up her “menu suggestions,” I smiled and said, “Thanks, Sam, but I trust my mom and sister—they’ve been amazing at making this day special.”
Eventually, Sam realized her attempts to take over were going unnoticed, and she backed off, retreating to a quieter corner of the room.
After the shower, Jake and I had a long talk about boundaries. He agreed to have a conversation with Sam, making it clear that while their friendship was valued, there were limits to how involved she could be in our personal lives.
Sam and I are cordial now, but she no longer tries to overstep. The baby shower turned out to be everything I’d hoped for, a joyful celebration surrounded by people who truly wanted to support us.
Sometimes, the best reality check is calmly but firmly standing your ground—and making it clear who’s really in charge.
