I think I would treat my Mother to at least two or three elegant dances (begs for talented musicians for backdrop) whereby I would have the opportunity to put forth a subtle sales pitch that in spite of her doubts, I was indeed, a true and wise young gentleman, not a complete idiot in my choice of women, had learned practically all I know about women from her, am perfectly in line with her philosophy on them (warning: don't credit her with your choice -- that will backfire on you mightily), will be willing to sleep on the couch on my honeymoon night if she thinks that's the wisest course, and reassure her that no matter who might come along, she's still number one in my book.
Note: this requires a level of deception that is in no way for the squeamish.