I have finally met my soulmate, the only awkward bit is I am married to his father

I swore never to be one of those mothers who fell foul of the old Irish mammy-and-her-son trope

Julie Jay

COMEDIAN

Having spent years swiping on Tinder and Bumble and selling second-hand appliances on Buy and Sell in a bid to meet someone, I have got my dream guy. 

Yes, I have finally met my soulmate - the only awkward bit is I am married to his father. 

Thankfully Darling Husband is a very close second, and we have all come to accept there are officially three of us in this marriage.

Forever I swore never to be one of those mothers who fell foul of the old Irish mammy-and-her-son trope, the matriarch who views her male offspring as nothing short of the next Messiah (I am of course referring to Justin Bieber). 

However, when it comes to accusations of succumbing to the mother-son stereotype, I am guilty as charged.

Yes, quicker than you can affect Psycho star Norman Bates's delivery of the word ‘mother’, I am already fully aware that my love for Ted will never be topped.

I’ve always considered myself a bit of a weirdo and am embracing this more as I get older. 

This is especially true in relation to comedy, where I have unleashed my inner Rocky Horror Picture Show with varying degrees of success. 

I have a newfound acceptance of being an oddball. 

But, since becoming a parent and Ted being at that age where his personality is increasingly shining through, I have a newfound acceptance of being an oddball. 

Because Ted's response reminds me that it's OK to be weird, it's brilliant even because it means that we like each other. And in Ted's eyes, what's not to like?

Recently at a hen party, I asked the DJ to play a request for the bride-to-be. 'I've no mic', he said, and I aged approximately a thousand years with those three simple words. 

The days of sticky dance floors might be over, but if Ted has taught me anything, it's that any floor can be a dancefloor if you shake those hips.

In a former life, I was always ready to drop to that disco-pop beat when a supermarket soundtrack would shift up a gear and go from playing James Blunt on a loop to suddenly and inexplicably blaring out Blackstreet's ‘No Diggity’. I have always applied the philosophy that life is too short not to dance. As a result, I have been chastened on more than one occasion by a partner (DH excluded, of course) or a friend in the biscuit aisle when I suddenly start gyrating like nobody is watching.

But now, when I dance in unconventional places, I am no longer strange. 

Anytime I have been moved to groove in a freezer section, Ted cheers me on - and I do not doubt that his reaction will be the same when I am showing off my best moves while supervising his first Junior Cert disco circa 2035.

My job as a comedian involves standing on a stage begging strangers to love us. 

There is most certainly a ‘want’ in us: having watched half a season of Grey's Anatomy, I am fairly sure this is an official medical term. 

Ted is the best audience because he always laughs at the right time. He has yet to jump in with a sympathy guffaw during the set-up, inadvertently disrupting the comedic cadence. 

Instead, he has an innate understanding of joke structure and punchline. Am I reading too much into the response of a two-year-old to my ‘peekaboo’ humour? 

Of course, I am. I have lost the run of myself and am one step away from campaigning for the voting age to be reduced to two so that Ted can have his say in local elections.

One of the things I love most about Ted is his beautifully sensitive soul. 

As an absolute Aerobar myself, in terms of what strangers think of me, I can only hope Ted isn’t similarly permeable to other people's thoughts and opinions. 

In a world of Cadbury Flakes, I want to help him become a robust Yorkie (no longer just for girls since recent advances towards gender equality). 

Though perhaps what makes Ted my dream guy is that he refrains from giving me tips while driving (the only time DH and I start googling annulments is when one of us is navigating). 

Ted has been known to applaud my parallel parking when I reverse with speed akin to the speed with which Elon Musk attempts to reverse out of legally binding contracts. 

The big test for my perfect man will come when he is armed with a mobile phone. 

Will he answer my calls? Will he text me back? 

If my previous relationships with West Kerry men are anything to go by, the odds are slim, but something about Ted makes me think he could be the exception.

Yes, I have finally met an Irishman who gets me - all I had to do was to make him.