My son has brought a girl into our flat and I dont know how to ask her to leave.
Only incognito can I confess things like those I am sharing today. I feel so bitter inside that I can hardly bear it any longer. Im ready for criticism, but I hope mothers whove watched their children suddenly become adults will understand me.
You bring a child into the world, raise him, divorce his father because you cant tolerate him anymore, you take your child everywhere, and do everything in your power so that, despite being from a single-parent household, he never feels lacking. You work two jobs, stand in front of the cooker like its a third shift, buy all the latest phones, pay for his education, and then:
Mum, Emily is moving in with us.
With whom? Into our tiny flat of just 44.2 square metres? Is this girl going to stay in my sons bedroom? Is she going to eat meals here too? And do her washing? Or am I supposed to share my kitchen and household duties now?
My son was bursting to tell me the news, beaming as if Id leap for joy and rush to clear the wardrobe to make room for Emily. When?
Shes a good girl, but that doesnt mean Im thrilled about someone moving in with us. Theyre adults! Why cant they get a mortgage or rent their own place? Whats the point of saving money if it comes at the expense of my peace of mind? Isnt a mothers sanity worth something?
Thats how I felt, but I still let the girl in. After all, my son does have a claim to the flat, so I suppose he has the right to bring her here. Ill admit, that isnt entirely true, but I promised myself to tell the whole story. My friends scolded me: Arent you thinking about your sons happiness? What sort of mother are you?
Now when I come home, everything annoys me. Right from the front door. Shoes tossed all over the hallway, the cooker splattered in the kitchen, tell-tale signs that Emily has been cooking. What if she used up the shopping I bought? It isnt that Im stingy, but no one likes running out of flour when youre about to bake. And then theres the endless queue for the bathroom.
Ill admit itI want Emily to leave my flat. I dont need another housekeeper in here.
And then it hit me: what if I brought a man home? Why did I spend so many years caring for my son while hiding the fact Ive been seeing someone? Hes got his own living space now, so why shouldnt I invite someone round with a suitcase and see how we all get on in our little 44.2 square metres?
This is the kind of strange letter I once received. As a mother of a young boy, I find it hard to imagine myself in the shoes of the writer, so Im eager to hear your thoughts.
What do you think, dear readers? Have your children grown up and you found yourselves in a similar situation? Have you managed to get along with your childrens partners? Does a woman have the right to ask Emily to move out of the house?
Sometimes, the hardest challenge for a parent is learning to shareour home, our space, and even our childrens affectionas they carve their own lives. Letting go doesnt mean giving up on our happiness; it means making room so everyone can find a bit of their own.
