Last month was my sons birthday. I told him Id come as a guest. I raised three boys. Anyone whos had four men in their house knows exactly what I mean. I cant fathom how a home could have no dinner ready, or things strewn about the flat. Now Im 52, and Ive always believed a woman should make a home comfortable and safe for a mansomewhere he can return to. But I dont think my daughter-in-law sees it the same way.
My eldest son married two years ago, and nine months later, they had a daughter. He was 28 then, and his wife was 20. Emily was still at university, but even the eight-year gap didnt seem to faze my son.
When she was pregnant, she was terribly difficultalways sending my son out for things. First, she craved apples in the morning, then oranges, then flowers. He never argued, just obliged. We thought once the baby came, things would change. They didnt.
She gave birth, breastfed for two months, and that was it. Then she told my son she was exhausted from sleepless nights and needed a break. Hes always been patient and kind, so he asked me to help. Of course, I couldnt refuse.
While I looked after the baby, Emily spent her days at spas and salons. When she got home, she couldnt even be bothered to cook dinner for my son returning from work. In the end, I stayed with their daughter the whole week. She grew used to sleeping till noon, living entirely as she pleased. Everything was left to me.
After a month, I broke down and said I had to go home. Emily was furious. I knew she wasnt ready to manage on her own, so I visited now and thenbut I didnt like what I saw. The house was a mess, the fridge empty.
She couldnt even be bothered to cook for her own child. Having raised three sons myself, I found such irresponsibility unbearable. My son always had home-cooked meals. Last month was his birthday. I thought Id visit, assuming shed make something. Instead, she ordered pizza and sushi.
I cant understand why my son tolerates a wife like this. I fear its because they never lived together before marriagehe didnt know what she was really like. It must be hard for him, yet he stays silent.
I keep thinking of ways to make her act like a proper wife and mother. My only worry is that my son might resent me for it. I know I should support his choices, but I cant just stand by and watch. Last week, I showed up unannounced with a basket of homemade soup and fresh bread. The baby was crying, the house dim and untidy. Emily sat on the couch in silk pajamas, scrolling through her phone. Without a word, I rolled up my sleeves, warmed the soup, and fed it to my granddaughter in the crook of my arm. My son came home late, loosened his tie, and smiled wearily. You didnt have to do that, he said. I looked at him, really lookeddark circles under his eyes, love and exhaustion tangled in his voice. I know, I said. But someone has to. And for the first time, he didnt thank me. He just nodded, slow and heavy, like he finally saw it too.
