**Diary Entry 6th March**
Why did I ever agree to let my son and his wife move in with me? I still dont know.
Im Margaret Whitaker, living in a modest two-bedroom flat in one of the quiet neighbourhoods of Oxford. At sixty-three, Im a widow with a small pensionenough to get by. When my son, James, married two years ago, I was happy for him, like any mother would be. Hes youngjust thirty-oneand his wife, Emily, is a bit younger. They tied the knot, but they had nowhere to live. No place of their own. Mum, well only stay with you a little while, they said. Just until we save enough for a deposit on a house.
Foolishly, I was overjoyedI imagined babysitting grandchildren. So I let them stay. Now, I dont know how to undo it. That little while has turned into two years, and none of us have any peace.
At first, I gave them space. They were newlyweds, adjusting. I didnt interferecooked for them, did their laundry, kept things tidy. Then Emily fell pregnant. Early, I thoughtbut if its Gods will, so be it. My grandson, Oliver, was born. An absolute darling. Except, his arrival drained every bit of savings. Everyone knows how expensive children arenappies, formula, baby foodall costly, and Emily insists on only the best, organic, imported brands.
Im happy to help. But Im not their maid. Yet somehow, Ive become the nanny, the cook, and the cleaner all at once. The new mother is exhaustedapparently Oliver keeps her awake, so she lounges in bed till noon, glued to her phone. The babys in the playpen. Shes on the sofa. The tellys blaring, lunch is ready, floor mopped, baby bathed. And still, Emily complains shes run ragged.
And James? Off to work, comes home silent, shoulders slumped. If I try to talk to him, he dodges. Mum, stay out of it, he says. Meanwhile, Emily acts as if she owns the place. I say one word; she snaps back with three. Then James accuses me of bullying his wife. Bullying! After all Ive done for them!
I dont know what to do. Find a place to rent, I tell James. Im worn out. His answer? We cant afford it, Mum. I suggested downsizingId take a small studio, theyd save for their own home, live like proper adults. Id help with Oliver when I could. But noJames just nods, and nothing changes.
I know theyre young. Lifes hard. But Im not made of steel either. My blood pressures up, my joints ache, I barely sleep. Yet whenever they need mehospital trips, injections, babysittingIm there. If I say Im tired, they look at me like Ive betrayed them.
A few days ago, we had a row. I woke early, tidied the kitchen, made Olivers porridge as usual. Emily stormed in. Why did you make this again? I told you I want the store-bought pouches! Id had enough. Im your mother-in-law, not your personal chef, I said. You should be providing for your own family. She cried. James took her side. They slammed the door, left in a huffthen came back an hour later as if nothing happened. Not even an apology.
Now I wake up every morning asking myself: why did I let this happen? Why didnt I put my foot down sooner? Maybe because Im a mother. Because I love my son. But more and more, I catch myself thinkingI love him, but Im spent. And when I sit down with my blood pressure pills, I wonderis it finally time to tell them to go? Itll break my heart, but at least I wont lose my mind.
Tell meam I the only one this naïve? Or are there others my age whove fallen into the same trap?
**Lesson learned:** Love shouldnt mean letting yourself be taken for granted.
