**A Diary Entry: When Inviting Mum Over Went Terribly Wrong**
My name is Oliver. I’m just an ordinary bloke who ended up caught between a rock and a hard place—my loving wife and my own mother. What happened after our daughter was born turned my life upside down and made me question my marriage. And honestly, I don’t know how to fix any of it.
My mum has never been an easy woman. She’s never understood boundaries, always barging into my life as if she had every right to. Why? Because I’m her favourite son. Her only one. The best. And in her mind, that meant everything concerning me concerned her too. No one else—not even my wife—was allowed to take control.
My wife’s name is Emily. We’ve been together five years, and I love her. She’s clever, patient, and stubborn but fair. When we first started dating, Mum took an instant dislike to her. Everything about Emily annoyed her—the way she spoke, cooked, even laughed. I brushed it off as simple jealousy. Mum always believed no one could care for me better than she could. And maybe that’s where our troubles began.
Three weeks ago, Emily gave birth to our little girl—our long-awaited miracle. The delivery wasn’t easy, and Emily took time to recover. Mum threw a fit the moment she heard labour had started, demanding to be in the delivery room. Of course, Emily refused—she hadn’t even wanted her own mother there, let alone mine.
When Mum didn’t get her way, she made a scene in the hospital lobby. Shouting, crying, accusing everyone of robbing her of becoming a grandmother.
After we got home, Emily—despite everything—let my parents visit. But she had one condition: Mum had to keep her opinions to herself. Mum swore she’d behave. But the second she stepped through our door, it all went wrong.
“What’s this mess in your garden? Do you live in a pigsty?” she began. “Aren’t you ashamed, Emily? You’re a mother now! At least you could’ve cleaned the floors before guests arrived.”
Emily listened silently before calmly replying, “Don’t come back to this house. Ever.”
After that, every relative—mine and Emily’s—visited. Even my father. But not Mum. Emily didn’t miss her for a second. We were at home, wrapped up in our own little world.
Then one day, Emily went to the doctor, and I stayed with our daughter. I felt sorry for Mum—she just wanted to see her granddaughter. What harm could two hours do? So I invited her over.
Mum rushed straight here. I warned her: two hours, no more. Of course, she ignored that. When Emily returned two and a half hours later, she found Mum cradling our baby.
What happened next was a nightmare.
Emily exploded. She screamed, sobbed, and snatched our daughter from Mum’s arms. She yelled for her to get out. Mum started defending herself—I stepped in. I lost it.
“You didn’t have this child alone!” I shouted. “She’s my daughter too, and I have every right to decide who sees her! You can’t just kick my mother out!”
“Then you can both leave!” she screamed back. “Now!”
Emily shoved us out the door—me and my mum. Told me not to come back.
Now I’m at my parents’ place. Dad stays quiet, but Mum hisses about Emily every day. I miss my daughter. I miss my home. I know I was wrong, but Emily went too far, didn’t she?
How do you find a way out when you’re stuck between two women who both insist you must side with them—and only them?
Tell me, who’s really at fault here? Or is the family I tried so hard to build just… gone?
