**Diary Entry**
I married a proper mummys boy. Now, in this house, everything has to be just like at Mumsand Ive had enough.
I still dont understand how I let this happen. How I didnt see, behind that serious demeanour and his thirty-eight years, a man utterly dependent on his mother. Outwardly, he seemed mature, decisive, even charismatic. Divorced, living on his own, renting a flatI thought he was grown-up. But in reality, that maturity was just an act.
Id been burned beforemy first marriage fell apart because my ex was so childish. Spent all day glued to his computer, never even looking for work. After him, I swore my next husband would be older. But as it turns out, age doesnt guarantee maturity.
I met my current husband through his mother. I was temping in a shop at the time, and she was a regularsweet, charming, all smiles. Shed say, Id love a daughter-in-law like you. Then her son started showing up, courting me straight out of a textbook. I fell for his attentiveness, his stability, his reliability. We got married and moved into his old flat.
First shock? The decor. Straight out of the 80sfloral wallpaper, crystal in the display cabinet, vintage furniture. I tentatively suggested, What if we updated things a bit? A little refresh? He looked horrified. Youre joking, right? Mum picked all this. Itd be a shame to toss it! Even taking down a wall hanging turned into a battle. He acted like Id ripped his mothers heart out.
Then it got worse. I couldnt use the good china in the cabinet because they dont make it like this anymore. His words, exactly like hers. And of course, she started visiting more oftenalways on his invitation.
The moment she arrived, the lectures began. Why a hoover instead of a broom? Why remove the rug? And above all*Everything should be like at mine; its whats best for my son.* Then came the cooking. Youre not making the onion soup right. My boy only eats it with properly crisped croutons. One day, I snapped. Will *you* be the one taking him to the doctor later? This isnt food, its a recipe for ulcers!
I tried swapping out a piece of furnituremy mother-in-law shot back, You came here with nothing! Oh, so I was supposed to bring my own wardrobe? I work too, you know. Even if its just retail for now, Im trying to move up. And my husband earns wellwhy dont I get a say in my own home?
And him? Hes turning into her. The other day, he actually said, You should watch some telly, then youd have things to talk about with Mum. Enough to drive me mad. I dont even watch TV, and I already spend enough time with hershes here every day, like a full-time job. She lectures me on ironing, polishing the hardwood, even how to close the cupboards.
I wouldnt say shes cruel. Just *too much.* Too nosy, too controlling. And the worst part? My husband doesnt see a problem. To him, this is normal. But I wont live like this. I wont become his mothers copy. I want my own life, my own way of running a home.
Yes, the flat isnt mine. No, I didnt pay into it. But Ive poured my soul into this place. And I refuse to turn my life into some retro museum exhibit, curated by his mum.
I want a child. But not one raised under her thumb, like him. Hes not a little boy anymore. Its time he understood: when you marry, you leave home. And if he wont maybe I should. Before its too late.
