The Wife of a Mummys Boy: Living in a Home Governed by Her RulesIve Had Enough!
I married a proper mummys boy. Now, in this house, everything must be “just like Mums”and Ive reached my limit!
I still dont understand how I let this happen. How I missed, behind that serious demeanour and thirty-eight years of age, a man utterly dependent on his mother. Outwardly, a grown man, decisive, even charismatic. Divorced, lived far from her, rented his own flat. I thought he was mature. But in reality, it was all a façade.
Id had my own bad experience beforea failed first marriage because of my ex-husbands immaturity. He spent his days glued to his computer, not even looking for work. After him, I swore: the next man would be older. But alas, age doesnt guarantee maturity.
I met my new husband through his mother. At the time, I was temping in a shop, and she was a regular customerkind, charming, friendly. Shed say, Id love a daughter-in-law like you. Then her son started dropping by, courting me straight out of a manual. I believed in his attention, his stability, his reliability. We got married and moved into his old flat.
The first shock? The decor. Straight out of the 1980s: floral wallpaper, crystal in the cabinet, vintage furniture. I tentatively suggested, What if we modernised a bit? Freshen things up? He looked horrified. Are you joking? Mum picked all this. Itd be a shame to throw it away! Even taking down the wall rug was a battle. He acted like Id ripped his mothers heart out.
Then it got worse. The china in the cupboard? Off-limits. They dont make this quality anymore, hed sayword for word, just like his mother. And, of course, she started visiting more. At his invitation, naturally.
The moment she arrived, the lectures began: Why a vacuum cleaner instead of a broom? Why remove the rug? And above all”Everything should be like at my house; its better for my son.” Then came the kitchen. Youre not making the onion soup right! My son only eats it with crisp croutons. One day, I snapped. Will you be the one taking him to the doctor later? This isnt foodits a prescription for ulcers!
I tried swapping out a piece of furnituremy mother-in-laws response? 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, and I plan to find something better. Besides, my husband earns good money. Why dont I get a say in my own home?
And him? Hes turning into her. The other day, he actually said, You could watch some telly shows so youd have things to talk about with Mum. Its maddening. I dont even watch TV, and I already spend more than enough time with hershes here every day, like clockwork. She lectures me on ironing, polishing the floors, even how to close the cupboards.
I wouldnt say shes mean. No. Shes just too much. Too nosy, too controlling. And the worst part? My husband sees nothing wrong with it. To him, its normal. But I wont live like this. I wont become a copy of his mother. I want my own life, my own way of running a home.
Yes, the flat isnt mine. Yes, I didnt pay towards it. But Ive put my soul into this place. And I refuse to turn my life into a retro museum annexe under my mother-in-laws direction.
I want a child. But I wont raise them in this kind of family. I wont let them grow up under a mothers thumb, like my husband. Hes not a little boy anymore. Its time he learned: when you marry, you leave home. And if he wont maybe Ill have to. Before its too late.
