Married to a Mummys Boy: Living in a House Run by Her RulesIve Had Enough!
I married a proper mummys boy. Now, in this house, everything has to be “just like at Mums”and I cant take it anymore!
I still dont understand how I let this happen. How I didnt see past that serious, mature-looking thirty-eight-year-old man to the little boy still clinging to his mother. Outwardly, he seemed grown-up, decisive, even charismatic. Divorced, living on his own, renting his flat. I thought he was mature. But in reality, it was all just an act.
Id already had one bad experiencemy first marriage fell apart because my husband was hopelessly immature. He spent all day on the computer, never even looking for work. After him, I swore my next man would be older. But, as it turns out, age doesnt guarantee maturity.
I met my now-husband through his mother. I was working part-time in a shop at the time, and she was a regular customerlovely, charming, sweet. Shed say, “Id love a daughter-in-law like you.” Then her son started showing up, courting me by the book. I fell for his attention, his stability, his reliability. We got married and moved into his old flat.
The first shock? The decor. Straight out of the 1980sfloral wallpaper, crystal in the display cabinet, vintage furniture. I tentatively suggested, “Maybe we could modernise a bit? Just freshen it up?” He looked horrified. “Are you joking? Mum picked all this. Itd be a shame to get rid of it!” Even taking down the wall tapestry was a battle. He acted like Id torn his mothers heart out.
Then it got worse. I couldnt use the good china in the cupboard because “they dont make it like this anymore.” His words, exactly like his mums. And of course, she started coming over more often. Always at his invitation.
The moment she arrived, the lectures beganwhy use a hoover instead of a broom? Why take the rug down? And above all”everything should be just like at mine, its better for my son.” Then came the cooking. “Youre not making the onion soup rightmy son only eats it with properly crisped croutons.” One day, I snapped. “Well, youll be the one taking him to the doctor later, then! This isnt food, its a recipe for ulcers!”
I tried to swap out a piece of furnituremy mother-in-law reminded me, “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 Ill 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, then youd have things to talk about with Mum.” Its driving me mad. I dont even watch TV, and I already spend enough time with hershes here every single day, like its part of the schedule. She lectures me on ironing, polishing the floors, even how to close the cupboards.
I wouldnt say shes cruel. No. Shes just too much. Too nosy, too controlling. And the worst part? My husband doesnt see a problem with it. To him, its normal. But I refuse to live like this. I wont turn into a copy of his mother. I want my own life, my own way of running a home.
Yes, the flat isnt technically mine. Yes, I didnt pay for it. But Ive put my heart into it. And I wont let my life become some retro museum exhibit, curated by my mother-in-law.
I want children. But not if theyre raised in this kind of household. I wont let them grow up under her thumb, like my husband. Hes not a little boy anymore. Its time he realisedwhen you get married, you leave home. And if he wont maybe its time I left. Before its too late.
