One. But if it happens again
So why are you acting like that now? The babys gone, so its time to get on with the housework. Floors wont clean themselves, he said, looking as if hed just handed me a Nobel Prize for finally being able to grab a mop again.
I was standing in the wreckage of our flat. And Im not exaggerating dishes piled up, the fridge empty, the floor sticky. In the corner on the balcony, the broken dryer still had my old robe hanging on it the very one I wore when I rushed off to the maternity ward a month and a half ago.
No flowers. No notes. Not a single drop of respect.
Just his indifferent stare, as if I were a nosy neighbour whod wandered in without knocking.
People say women get ultrasensitive after giving birth. But it isnt the hormones, is it? Its how were greeted. What were told. Whether we get a hug or none at all.
Are you joking? I whispered, looking at him. I just got home with triplets. After the operation
And? he snapped. Caesarean, like you said. Everything under anaesthetic. You didnt give birth, you just lay there. Stop pretending. Milk them? Fine, go on. But that doesnt excuse a mess in the house.
At first I thought he was being sarcastic. Then I thought hed lost his mind. And then I wondered if maybe it was me. After all, I used to love him, didnt I?
My head was buzzing. My heart stopped. I was holding a travel bag filled with nightgowns, pads and two pairs of little slippers Id knitted while pregnant. And he was talking to me like I was a lazy kid whod just gotten back from a holiday.
You didnt even pick us up from the hospital, I sighed. I had to ask the nurse to call a taxi
You wanted to be independent! he shouted. All the time you were carrying the baby, you ran from me. All on your own now keep going on your own.
Carrying a child isnt about weakness. Its about belief that someone will have your back, that you wont be left alone, that the person you love will stay beside you. And if not?
If you cant manage, Ill call my mother, he muttered and headed for the bathroom. Shell turn you into a proper housewife.
Ah, sweet simplicity. His mother. Margaret Clarke. A woman whose stare could boil an egg. Even the stray cats on the block gave her a wide berth. Always in a grey coat, short hair, voice like steel. You didnt argue with her. Not even the boss.
I braced for a showdown shouting, scolding, broom in hand.
Instead she slipped in quietly.
There was something different in her eyes. Something else.
She looked around, at me, at my dishevelled state, at my silence.
Cleaning? she asked suddenly.
I barely managed to open my mouth.
After a Caesarean? Get down on the floor right now!
I froze. She threw on her coat, tied an apron, grabbed a cloth and a bucket, and started scrubbing the kitchen floor.
Sometimes kindness shows up in the most unexpected package even a steelyvoiced lady with a serious stare.
In half an hour the kitchen smelled of stew. I lay on the sofa, pillows piled around me, while Margaret was rinsing towels and muttering:
Triplets, thats a proper handful
When my husband came back, phone in hand, grin on his face, she lunged at him like a storm:
Have you lost your mind?! You helped bring three babies into the world! That was surgery, pain, recovery! And youre here washing the floor?!
Mum, but you said
Me? You promised you could handle it. That you loved us. That everything was under control. I believed you!
She sighed, looked at me and whispered:
Monster. Youre a monster in human form.
When a mother steps in for another woman, its a win. Its rough, but its needed.
Who gave you that idea?!
He shrugged.
A colleague Paul. He kept saying a Caesarean isnt a real birth, that milk is nonsense, that women just make things up
SILENCE! she roared.
He fell quiet.
That very day trouble started at his job. Coworkers overheard his chatter, and Tanya the same friend whod been there for me during the pregnancy had had enough.
Have you seen a woman after a Csection? Seen her not sleep for weeks? Seen her in constant pain?
The boss called him in and put him on forced leave, no return until they sorted it out.
Paul, the inspirer, got investigated for harassment and abuse of power.
Karma doesnt rush, but it hits precisely.
Margaret took my son in for a couple of weeks. When he came back, he was different: quieter, clutching a parenting book, a pot of stew in his hands.
Im sorry, he knelt. I was selfish, selfish. Give me a chance. Just one.
I stared at him for a long moment, then said:
One. But if it happens again
It wont, he interrupted. I swore to your mum. And swearing to her is scarier than swearing to you. Im sorry.
Sometimes you have to fall to see the mistake. Not everyone changes. I got a second chance. He got his.
From then on things shifted. Not overnight, but they did.
He learned to change diapers, make porridge, get up in the night. He apologized for everything, for every painful day.
And Margaret turned up every Saturday with fresh scones and a line:
Youre not alone any more. Remember that.
And I wasnt alone. I had my children, support, family, and a husband who now flips pancakes and shouts at noisy neighbours while the little ones nap.
Theres a phrase that became my talisman:
Youre not alone.
