Yo, mama

In addition to dishing out much needed “slaps” and wonderfully acerbic wit, I also teach scuba.

Recently, one of my students shared with me her marital issues between classroom sessions and dives, and over post-scuba sauvignon.

It’s an interesting thing that happens during my scuba classes. Once I get someone into neoprene, they seem to have an almost uncontrollable desire to tell me everything.  I guess it’s kind of the “hairdresser syndrome.”  Plus there’s the added level of trust that my students instinctively give me. After all, I’m taking them 40 feet underwater in the wide open ocean.  I could just leave them there. But of course I won’t. Not on purpose.

But I digress. So this student, A., was actually taking her scuba class to get back at her husband. Apparently he complained that she had no hobby, so she called his bluff and planned an expensive trip to Florida to get one.

A. is a stunner. She’s close to six feet tall. I am close to five feet tall. On the south side. I told her between the two of us we make one normal person. 

According to A. her marriage has been uncomfortable from just about the get-go. They have a lovely kid together, but that’s about all the happiness they share. A. had no problem listing all the awful, inconsiderate, clueless things her husband does.

But then A. told me some of the things she says in return. How she writes him notes all the time, and is constantly checking up after him to make sure he does all the stuff he’s supposed to.

And a carbon-footprint-friendly fluorescent light bulb went on over my head. We were both sitting down, so I could look her right in the eye. “My dear A. You sound like his mother.”

She thought for a moment, and then said, “My gosh, you’re right. I never thought of it that way. But I see what you mean.”

My friends, there are many things that make us attractive and appealing to a man.  Nagging him like his mother is not one of them.

Our unique ability to nurture, cosset and coddle is fundamental to the success of the human race. But it’s the same ability that can destroy relationships.

It starts out innocently and lovingly enough. We meet a nice man. We want to impress him. We want to show him we care. So we do stuff for him. Take care of him.  Buy him socks. Make his lunch. Anticipate his every need.

He loves it. We know he loves it, so we do it more.

And then, one morning we wake up and hate him for it.

But frankly, he’s probably hating us for it too.  Mothering your husband is emasculating to him, and poison for you. In “mother and son” roles, unless you have very kinky tastes, it’s a major passion-killer, believe you me.

I’m not saying it’s all A.’s fault. Her husband plays his role, and they both have allowed things to deteriorate to where they are now. But unless they can get out of those habits, their marriage is going nowhere but the off-ramp.

You can be a wonderful mother to your children – even your sister’s children and the children next door. If you’re Angelina Jolie, you can be a wonderful mother to all the children on the gosh-darn globe.

But you cannot be a mother to your husband. He already has one. He doesn’t need you for that.

Do not allow him to shovel guilt in your direction. Do not allow childlike pouting. Do not succumb to your mothering instinct. He’ll get over it. And if he doesn’t, you can get over him.

Having a mutha of a headache? Email me.