“I’m Done Babysitting Your Son,” Announced the Daughter-in-Law Before Heading Off to Brighton Beach …

Im tired of playing nanny for your son, my daughter-in-law announced, and left for Brighton.

My son, Andrew, wasby all accountsa good lad. Hardworking. But his wife, Emily, was an odd one. Refused to cook now and then, wouldnt tidy up. Lately shed become a whirlwind, unpredictable as English weather.

Just yesterday, she caused another scene.

Andrew, she said to him, I cant take this anymore! Youre a grown man, yet you act like a child!

Andrew looked utterly bewildered. He hadnt asked for muchjust wanted Emily to sort out his socks, iron his shirt, and remind him about his GP appointment.

Mum always helped me, he muttered.

Then go live with your mum! Emily exploded.

The next morning Emily packed her suitcase.

Andrew, she said calmly, Im off to Brighton. For a month. Maybe longer.

What do you mean, longer?

I mean Im exhausted having to mother a grown man.

Andrew tried to protest, but Emily ignored him and phoned me.

Mrs. Watson? Its Emily. If Andrew cant cope without a babysitter, perhaps you could stay at ours for a bit. Spare keys under the mat.

And she left.

Andrew sat in the empty flat, at a total loss. The fridge was empty, socks filthy, dishes piled high in the sink.

After a couple of days, he called me.

Mum, Emilys gone mad! Buggered off somewhere! What am I supposed to do?

I sighed. Problems with the daughter-in-law, again.

Ill be there soon, love. Well sort it out.

An hour later I arrived, arms loaded with groceries and my usual motherly resolve: Ill fix everything.

But opening the door, I just gasped.

The place was a tipclothes strewn about everywhere, dishes everywhere in the kitchen, dirty laundry in the bath.

It hit memy thirty-year-old son didnt know how to live on his own. Not a clue.

Id done everything for him his whole life. Id made a giant child.

Mum, Andrew whined, whats for tea? Wheres my shirts? When will Emily come home?

I silently started cleaning but my mind kept racing: What have I done?

Id protected my son from housework. From hardship. From life itself.

Now, without a woman, he was helpless.

And Emily? Shed simply run away from this oversized, hapless child.

And honestly, I couldnt blame her.

For three days, I stayed at Andrews. Every day, my conviction grewhe was a big kid.

By morning, hed start his endless moaning:

Mum, whats for breakfast? Wheres my shirt? Any clean socks?

Id iron and cook and tidy, saying nothing but watching closely.

Picture ita thirty-year-old man who didnt know how to use a washing machine! Didnt know the price of bread! Even made tea awkwardlyscalded himself or spilled sugar.

Mum, hed moan at night, Emilys gone off the rails! She used to pretend to care, now she acts like a stranger!

How do you treat her? I cautiously asked.

Just normal! Im not asking for much; I just want my wife to act like a wife, not a grumpy old aunt!

I looked at Andrew. Oh Lord. He truly didnt get it.

Andrew, have you ever helped Emily with anything?

How would that work? he said, genuinely baffled. I go to work! I bring home the money! Isnt that enough?

And at home?

Well, Im knackered after work! I need a rest. Shes always going on, though. Wash the dishes, go shopping. Thats womens work, isnt it?

But heres the rubhis words echoed my own, said to him since he was little:

Andrew, dont touch, Mum will do it! No need to shop, Ill nip out quicker! Men have more important things!

Id created a monster.

With every day around him, the realisation became unbearable.

Andrew came home and flopped on the sofa, waiting for dinner, for someone to tell him news, to entertain him.

And when dinner didnt appear magically, the tantrums began:

Mum, whens tea ready? Im starving!

Like a child.

Worst of all were his endless comments about Emily.

Shes so touchy lately, Andrew complained. Always cross. Do you think she should see a doctor? Hormones, maybe?

Or maybe shes just tired, I suggested.

Tired from what? We both work and yet she still needs to run the house.

Needs to?! Who told you that?

Andrew was utterly confused. Id never shouted at him in his life.

On the fourth evening, I couldnt take it anymore.

Andrew sat scrolling his phone, sighing about how boring things were without his wife. The kitchen was buried in dirty dishes, socks scattered about, bed unmade.

Mum, he whined, whats for tea?

I was stewing beef for the casserole, just like always, just like for thirty years.

And suddenly, enough was enough.

Andrew, I said, turning off the hob. We need to talk.

Im listening, he said, eyes glued to his phone.

Put your phone down. Look at me.

There was something final in my tonehe obeyed.

Son, I began softly, do you understand why Emily left you?

She just had a moment. Women get emotional. Shell rest, come back.

She isnt coming back.

What do you mean, not coming back?!

Shes fed up of being nanny to a grown child.

Andrew shot up from the sofa.

Mum! What are you saying?! I work, bring money!

And what of home? I stood up, glaring. Are your arms broken? Eyes blind?

Andrew paled.

How can you say that? Im your son!

Thats exactly why I must! I slumped into a chair, hands trembling.

Mum, you must be joking? Andrew asked, alarmed.

Joking? I bitterly laughed. Im sick. Sick from loving you too blindly. I thought I was protecting you. Really, I raised an egotist! A thirty-year-old who cant cope without a woman, thinks the world owes him!

But he started.

No buts! I cut across. Do you think Emily must play your second mum? Wash, cook, clean for you? Why?

I work.

She works, too! And runs the household! You? You loaf about waiting to be served!

Andrews eyes brimmed with tears.

Mum, thats just how people live.

Not everyone! I shouted. Decent men help their wives! Do the washing up, cook dinner, raise children! You dont even know where the washing powder is kept!

Andrew buried his face in his hands.

Emilys right, I said quietly. Shes tired of being your mum. And so am I.

What do you mean, youre tired?

I mean this. I fetched my coat and bag. Im going home. You stay here. Alone. Try to grow up.

Mum, dont go! Andrew jumped up. Alone? Wholl cook? Clean?

You will! I shouted. Like every proper adult!

But I can’t!

Youll learn! Or stay a lonely, childish failure!

I pulled on my coat.

Mum, dont leave! Andrew pleaded. What will I do on my own?

The thing you should have learned twenty years ago, I told him. Live independently.

And I left.

Andrew remained alone in the messy flat. For the first time evertruly alone.

Face to face with reality.

He sat on the sofa until midnight.

His stomach grumbled. The kitchen reeked. Socks everywhere.

Damn, he muttered and, for the first time in thirty years, stood up and washed the dishes himself.

It went badly. Plates slid about, hands stung from the washing-up liquid. But he did it.

Then he attempted a fried egg. Burnt it. Had another goit was just about edible.

By morning he realisedMum was right.

A week passed.

Every day Andrew taught himself to live. Did the laundry, cooked, cleaned, went shopping and kept track of prices. Managed his days.

It was work.

Finally, he understood what Emily went through.

Hi, Emily? he rang on Saturday.

Im listening, she said coldly.

You were right, Andrew blurted. I acted like a huge child.

Emily said nothing.

Ive lived alone a week. Now I get how hard lifes been for you. Im so sorry.

Emily was silent for a while.

You know, she replied, your mum called me yesterday. Apologised for raising you wrong.

Emily came back a month later.

She returned to a tidy flat, a husband whod cooked her dinner and greeted her with flowers.

Welcome home, he said.

And I called them once a week. Asked how they were, but never overstayed my welcome.

One evening, as Andrew washed up after tea and Emily brewed us all a cuppa, she murmured,

You know, I like our new life.

So do I, he replied, drying his hands. Shame it took us so long to find it.

At least weve found it, Emily smiled.

And that was the truth.