My son brought a girl into our flat and I dont know how to ask her to leave.
Some things can only be confessed anonymously, like what Im writing today. I feel so full of resentment, I can hardly bear it. Maybe Ill be criticised, but I hope the mothers of children who suddenly become adults will understand.
You give birth to a child, you raise him, you divorce his father because you cant stand him anymore, you take your child everywhere with you, do everything so he doesnt feel left out growing up with just one parent. Ive worked two jobs, and spent my evenings cooking as if I was on another shift, I bought every new phone, paid for his school, and then
Mum, Emilys going to live with us.
Who? In our tiny London flat of just 44.2 square metres? Is she staying in my sons room? Will she eat with us? Is she going to do her laundry here? Or are there going to be two ladies of the house from now on?
My son broke the news with such happiness, expecting me to beam with joy, maybe even rush to clear out a wardrobe for Emily that very second.
Shes a lovely girl, no doubt about that. But that doesnt mean I want someone else living with us. Adults? Well, let them get a mortgage or rent their own place! Why must I put up with all this saving money so they dont have to rent? Arent my frazzled nerves worth something?
Thats exactly how I felt, but I let the girl move in. My son does have a claim to the flat, and that means he brings her home if he wishes. Thats a lie, but Im determined to be honest here. My friends had a go at me: Dont you care about your sons happiness? What sort of mother are you?
Now I come home and everything sets my teeth on edge. From the moment I open the front door. Extra shoes clog the hallway, the cookers splattered and greasyso Emily must have been baking. And what if shes used up all the groceries Ive just bought? Isnt that wasting my money? And what happens when, halfway through making dinner, I discover theres no flour? And the queues for the bathroom never end.
Ill admit it: I want Emily out of my flat. I dont need another housekeeper here.
And then I had a thought: what if I brought a man home? Why have I spent all these years putting my son first and hiding any relationship? After all, he has his own room, but whats to stop me from turning up one day with an overnight bag and showing him what its like, living four to a little London flat?
This is the kind of strange letter I received. As a mother to a young son myself, I cant quite imagine being in the senders shoes, so Im interested to hear from you, the readers.
What do you think? Have your children reached that age and have you ever had to handle something similar? Did you get on with your childs partner? Does a woman have the right to ask her sons girlfriend to leave?
