Now, "wife" is in quotes for a variety of reasons. First of all, we are not actually married, I and this boy I might as well call X for privacy purposes and the remainder of this post (chapter? maybe later). I moved in with him and his parents about a month ago as a very temporary solution to a hopefully resolving-at-this-very-moment problem; I have no where else to go. Now, that's slightly misleading; my mother asked me multiple times if I'd like to come live with her. I refused every time, for many reasons that sum up to I know that I would not remain mentally stable and certainly not happy in that situation. My father says that I am always welcome at his house, as does the ex-boyfriend who has been living there for the past 4 years (and I'm rounding down). That should give the discerning reader the shivers, but for those more inclined to benefit of the doubt, I'll spell it out; The Ex and I have tried to get along for those four years. He has sabotaged a few of the other relationships I have attempted to have in that time, has tried to get back together with me not a few times (and to be fair, I gave it a shot once or twice), and in a general sort of way has used sex and guilt to manipulate me. That would all be standard fare for exes that stay in contact; the biting point is that I have been asking him to leave my family home for three years and he never made any visible effort to do so, completely disrespecting me and my relationship with my father. Which if this becomes a proper autobiography will be better outlined in Chapter 7.
So, I refuse to live with my mother or my father for the basic reason that neither would be a good situation for me. And X's parents love me. Though I was very resistant to putting X, his family and myself in this situation, it made sense for me to live amongst people who appreciate me and treat me with respect. So that's what I did.
It's inevitable for all but the most adult-independence-minded of matrons to revert to the mother-son relationship from grade school, and X's mother is no exception. It must be noted that she is an excellent home-maker on top of working a very demanding job; she keeps a beautiful and fastidious environment in most rooms that she would call her own. Her "minimalist" husband does not do much damage to her efforts. X, however, is the quintessential fraternity slob; laundry on the floor, pizza crusts in the bed, the whole nine yards. And of course, he could do this because his mother would clean up after him, primarily to "make up for" being a less-than-present single mother decades past, and secondly to maintain her home to her standards. But, according to X, he needs this help; he can't do it on his own, due to the combined influences of barely-treated bipolarity, unstable employment and an almost permanent state of debt. He just can't handle the stress to take care of himself.
Well, being unemployed, I felt guided by a sense of uselessness to be useful. To him. So in an attempt to put a dent in his 80 lb body fat surplus, I started making him a healthy snack to take to work; apple slices and a yogurt cup. Again, the more discerning readers can already see where this is going. This turned into a pattern, a way for me to influence his diet and to show that I cared. I was a bit concerned when he told me that on one morning when I wasn't up early enough, his mom cut up the apples instead, but I couldn't put my finger on why it bothered me.
This morning I came downstairs to find Mom (X's mom) cutting up an apple and dropping the slices in a zip-lock bag; she thought I was still asleep. There was a tenor chord in my voice when I told her that I had already done it; indeed, an hour ago I had put the zip-lock baggie in the fridge. I then realized exactly what was happening; we were competing for who got to coddle this man-child, and in what ways.
I left the house as quickly as I could; I had to step away from the situation, since we were clearly stepping on each others' toes. I spent the next three hours at my office looking up "wife mother-in-law conflict" articles. It turned out that the situation we were encountering was textbook, but the only thing either of us had done wrong was to humor X's feelings of insufficiency. A man should not need a woman to keep him in clean clothes and eating right, let alone two!
One particular anecdote goes with this; X had been undressing on his side of the bed and leaving his clothes on the floor. This had gone on for a few days until quite a disgusting pile had accumulated. I noticed it. I thought about moving it to the laundry. Then I thought, no, this is something he needs to do for himself. There needs to be a threshold for when even he thinks that things have gotten too messy. The pile disappeared a day later, along with some rearrangement of things in the room, between him leaving for work and coming home. He thanked me for taking care of it. I told him it wasn't me, his mother had done it, and I even bothered to expound that I would never pick his clothes up off the floor, that that was something I expected him to do on his own. I kept to myself, however, that I was disappointed that his mother did not hold him to this same expectation, or at least, that she could not resist intervening when it just got too maddeningly filthy by her standards.
Some may think that I acted prematurely, taking on the "role of a wife" and interpreting the situation as (and consequently reading up on) a wife vs. mother-in-law nurture-struggle. I think there's a grain of truth to that, but I'm also glad that I preemptively took action to educate myself and prevent further conflict.
After reading these articles, I began to look at myself differently; perhaps Mom felt threatened that I was taking on some of her jobs, as if I was suggesting that she couldn't do them herself, that I was encroaching on her territory. After thinking about it for awhile, I started thinking about past events a little differently; was she cleaning up in his room more often than usual, trying to make sure he didn't forget about her, that I would not be allowed to become primary caregiver? I also kicked myself, because the very fact that mom was taking over one of my self-assigned jobs meant that it was a mommy job; I was buying into X's man-boy pity party just as much as she was, enabling his continued dependence. I was being a wife-mom.
Then I came home, and Mom asked me to go back out again to get her some brown sugar and baking chocolate so she could make a cake for tonight's dinner with a family friend, to which I have been invited before and am invited again. And I realized that our dynamic was not nearly as sinister as I had feared; I wasn't just X's caretaker, I was part of the family, contributing my fare share to keep the household running smoothly. The fact that my efforts largely focus on X is to be expected, not just because of our relationship but because, well, Mom, Dad and I are simply a lot more functional than he is; Mom and Dad don't need my help as much as X does. The fact that any portion of my effort goes towards caring for the whole household, such as buying groceries that everyone eats (not just him) or cleaning up in the kitchen, cements my position as a general contributor.
In the editing of this piece, it will be necessary for me to create a better flow accommodating the two relationships I am trying to discuss; the one, wife with mother-in-law, and the other, wife-mom with man-child.
I also read one more anecdotal article, one that made me flinch and groan internally. The "girl-friends, beware if your boyfriend moves back in with his parents, and if he does, watch out for these signs of regression." As I read them, I very clearly recognized behavior patterns that were already present when I first met X; not making his own breakfast, not doing his own laundry. And this inevitably led to my self-questioning; why didn't I have higher standards before? Why didn't this mother/man-child dynamic send me running for the hills as soon as I saw it? Probably it had something to do with all those other reasons why I like him.
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