Last month was my sons birthday, and I told him Id pop round as a guest.
I raised three boys. Anyone whos had four men under one roof knows exactly what Im on about. I cant fathom how a house can have no dinner ready, or things strewn about like a jumble sale. Now, at 52, Ive always believed a woman should make a homesomewhere cosy and safe for a man to return to. But Im not convinced my daughter-in-law shares that view.
My eldest son got married two years ago, and nine months later, they had a daughter. He was 28; his wife, Tamsin, was 20 and still at university. The eight-year gap didnt seem to bother him, though.
When Tamsin was pregnant, she was, shall we say, *particular*. Shed send my son running to the shops at all hoursapples at dawn, oranges by noon, flowers by teatime. He never complained, bless him. We thought once the baby arrived, things would settle. They did not.
She breastfed for two months, then declared she was knackered from sleepless nights and needed a break. My son, ever the soft touch, asked if Id lend a hand. Of course, I couldnt say no.
While I looked after the baby, Tamsin spent her days at spas and shopping centres, then couldnt even be bothered to whip up dinner for my son when he came home from work. So, for a solid week, I was on nappy duty. She got used to lazing in bed till noon, living entirely on her own terms, leaving everything to me.
After a month, I cracked and said I had to go home. Tamsin was *not* pleased. I knew she was still finding her feet, so I visited occasionallybut I didnt like what I saw. The place was a tip, the fridge was empty, and she couldnt even muster the energy to cook for her own child. Having raised three boys, her lack of responsibility baffled me. My son always had a proper meal growing up.
Then came his birthday last month. I dropped by, assuming Tamsin wouldve cooked something special. Instead? Takeaway pizza and sushi.
I dont get it. Why does my son put up with this? I reckon its because they never lived together before marriagehe had no idea what he was signing up for. Its clearly wearing on him, but he just bites his tongue.
Im tempted to give Tamsin a nudge (or a shove) toward acting like a proper wife and mum. My only worry? That my son might take it the wrong way. Last week, I watched my son come home from work, shoulders slumped, to a dark hallway and a cold kitchen. Tamsin was upstairs, scrolling through her phone while the baby cried in her crib. Without a word, he warmed yesterdays takeaway and ate standing up. Thats when I knew I couldnt stay silent anymore. The next day, I invited Tamsin for coffeejust usand said gently, Love isnt measured in spa days, but in packed lunches and bedtime stories. She looked at me, startled, then burst into tears. We sat there for hours, talking, really talking. Two days later, I saw her chopping vegetables for dinner, the baby strapped to her chest, humming a lullaby. My son caught my eye from across the room and gave me the smallest nod. It wasnt perfect. But it was a start.
