**”Do You Call Your Mother-in-Law ‘Mum’? Are You Sure You Know Who Your Real Mother Is?”**
Every time I hear someone address their mother-in-law as “Mum,” it sends shivers down my spine. Not because I’m cruel or jealous, but because to me, that word is sacred. It’s not something you hand out to just anyone. A mother isn’t merely a woman who becomes family through a marriage certificate. A mother is the one who raised you, who stayed up sleepless nights, who wept in helplessness but still got up each morning to fight for you.
I have a close friend—Lucy. We’ve known each other since childhood. She was my bridesmaid, and I’ve stood by her through all three of her weddings. We’ve weathered life’s storms together—children, moves, everything—and still, we hold on tight. I often joke with her, *”Well, Luce, shall we wait till the kids are off to university and then hit the clubs in our retirement?”*
Recently, I dropped by her place to deliver some medicine she’d asked for—her car was in the shop, so she couldn’t get out. I handed her the bag, and she nodded. *”It’s not for me. Mum’s feeling poorly.”*
I smiled and stepped into the kitchen, calling out automatically, *”Hello, Aunt Margaret! How are you feeling?”*
Then the woman turned, and I realised—this wasn’t her mother. This was the mother of her third husband. Her mother-in-law. And yet, Lucy affectionately called her “Mum.” Just like she had with all the others.
I remembered how it had been with the first two. With James—her first husband—she’d called his mother “Mum” from day one. *”Are you mad?”* I’d hissed back then. *”You don’t even know her! She’s not your mum!”*
Lucy only smiled. *”It’s strategy. It’ll make her happy. She’ll accept me. And James will like it. Simple.”*
Except that “mum” later stabbed her in the back. When James would come home drunk or vanish for nights at a time, and Lucy would call her in tears, she’d just sigh and say, *”Well, love, what do you expect? Men need their space…”*
Two years later—divorce. They had a child, but none of those “mums” ever cared about their grandson or Lucy.
With the second, it was worse. That mother-in-law made her stance clear from the start: *”That boy’s not your responsibility. Send him off wherever, I won’t lift a finger. Not a penny to spare.”*
Still, Lucy called her “Mum”—right up until she realised that behind the word was nothing but cold indifference. They divorced, thankfully, without children.
Now, on her third marriage, it’s happening again. The same sweet words. The same naïve hope that if she says “Mum,” the woman will melt into kindness.
But it doesn’t work like that.
I know what I’m talking about. I have a mother-in-law, too. And we don’t just *get along*—we genuinely respect each other. We talk honestly, laugh together, pick blackberries in the garden, or debate TV shows. But we call each other by our first names. And that doesn’t stop us from being closer than some blood relatives.
Because “Mum” isn’t a word you use for convenience. It’s a title—like a medal. You have to earn it. You can’t buy it with flattery or a smile. A real mother isn’t the one who walks into your life with a husband. She’s the one who stays—forever.
Yes, sometimes a mother-in-law does become closer than a birth mother. It happens. But that’s the exception—not the rule.
So when I hear—
*”Mum, would you like some tea?”*
*”Mum, how are you feeling?”*
I always ask myself the same question: Is that love? Or just the habit of pretending?
**Lesson:** Family isn’t made by titles, but by bonds. Call people what they truly are—because pretending cheapens the word for those who’ve truly earned it.
