One. But if you try again
So whyd you even bother? The babys gone, so its time to get on with the chores. Floors wont clean themselves, he said, looking like he was handing me a Nobel Prize for being able to grab a mop again.
I stood in the wreckage. No exaggeration a real mess: dishes piled up, an empty fridge, a sticky kitchen floor. In the corner of the balcony, a broken dryer still held the hospital gown Id left on it the day I went into labour. One and a half months ago.
No flowers. No note. Not a drop of respect. Just his indifferent stare, as if I were just a neighbour whod wandered in without knocking.
People say women get ultrasensitive after giving birth. It isnt the hormones, though, its how were greeted. What were spoken to like. Whether we get a hug or none at all.
Are you joking? I whispered, looking at him. Ive just come back with triplets. After the operation
And? he snapped. Caesarean, like you called it. All under anaesthetic. You didnt give birth, you just lay there. Stop pretending. Youre milking? Fine, do it. But it doesnt stop you from tidying up the house.
At first I thought he was being funny. Then I thought hed lost his mind. Then I wondered if maybe Id gone off the rails. After all, I used to love him, didnt I?
My head was buzzing, my heart stopped. I was holding a travel bag with nightgowns, pads and two pairs of slippers Id sewn while pregnant. And he was talking to me like Id just returned from a holiday and was being lazy.
You didnt even take us from the hospital, I exhaled. I asked the nurse to call a taxi myself
You wanted to be independent! he shouted. All through the pregnancy you ran from me. All on your own now go on and do it yourself.
Having a baby isnt about weakness. Its about belief that someone will back you, that you wont be left alone, that the person you love will be there. And if not?
If you cant manage, Ill call my mum, he muttered, heading for the bathroom. Shell turn you into a proper housewife.
Ah, sweet simplicity. His mum. Margaret Clarke. A woman whose stare could boil an egg. Even the street cats 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 imagined her arriving like a judge, with scoldings, sarcasm, a broom in hand.
Instead she walked in quietly.
There was something in her eyes. Something different. She took in the whole scene, me, my looks, my silence.
Are you cleaning? she asked suddenly.
I hadnt answered.
After a Caesarean?! Get on the floor right now!
I froze. She threw on her coat, slipped on an apron, grabbed a rag and a bucket, and started scrubbing the floor.
Sometimes kindness shows up in the most unexpected package even a sharpvoiced, sternlooking lady.
In half an hour the kitchen smelled of stew. I was sprawled on the sofa, pillows piled around me, while Margaret was rinsing towels and humming,
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 gone mad?! A woman just brought three babies into the world! Its surgery, pain, recovery! And youre here cleaning the floor?!
Mum, but you said
Me?! You promised youd handle it. That you loved us. That you had it under control. I believed you!
She sighed, looked at me, whispered,
Monster. Youre a monster in human form.
When a mother sides with another woman, thats a win. It hurts, but its needed.
Who the hell put that in your head?!
He shrugged.
A colleague Paul. He said a Caesarean wasnt a real birth, that milk was nonsense, that women were making it all up
SILENCE! she shouted.
He fell quiet.
That same day trouble started at his job. Colleagues caught wind of his chatter, and Tanya the same friend whod supported me through the pregnancy had had enough.
Did you see a woman after a Csection? Did you see her not sleeping for weeks? All the pain?
The boss called him in and put him on leave, no return until things were sorted. Paul, the inspirer, ended up under investigation for harassment and abuse of power.
Karma doesnt rush, but it hits straight.
Margaret took the baby boy in for two weeks. When he came back, he was different: quiet, clutching a parenting book, and lugging a pot of stew.
Im sorry, he knelt. I was an idiot, selfish. Give me another chance. Just one.
I stared at him a long while, then said,
One. But if you mess up again
It wont happen, he cut in. I swore to Mum. And swearing to her is scarier than swearing to you. Im sorry.
Sometimes you have to fall to spot the mistake. Not everyone gets better, but I got a second chance. He learned to change diapers, make porridge, get up at night. He apologised every single day, for every ounce of pain.
And Margaret turned up every Saturday with scones and a simple line:
Youre not alone now. Remember that.
And I wasnt alone. I had the kids, the support, a family, and a husband who now flips pancakes and shouts at the neighbours if theyre being noisy while our little ones nap.
Theres a phrase thats become my talisman:
Youre not alone now.
