When my husband smugly announced he was going on a resort vacation without me because I “don’t work,” I smiled sweetly and let him go. But behind that smile? A storm was brewing.
He thought I did nothing all day.
He was about to find out exactly how wrong he was. I hadn’t slept a full night in three months.
Not since Lily arrived and turned our lives upside down with her tiny fists and powerful lungs. Don’t get me wrong: I loved my daughter more than anything, but the exhaustion was real.
Maternity leave was much more work than being in the office.
That afternoon, I was bouncing Lily in my arms, trying to quiet her fussing while simultaneously folding laundry with my free hand. My hair hadn’t been washed in four days, and I was wearing the same spit-up-stained T-shirt for the second day in a row. Keith arrived home and walked into the living room looking fresh and crisp in his button-down and slacks.
Not a hair out of place.
“How was your day?” he asked. I forced a smile.
“The usual. Lily was fussy most of the afternoon.”
Keith flopped down on the couch and stretched out his legs.
“Man, work was brutal today.” He kicked off his shoes.
“Three back-to-back meetings. I’m wiped out.”
I bit my tongue. “Dinner’s in the oven.
Should be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Great,” Keith said, grabbing the remote.
“I’m starving.”
Lily started crying again. I bounced her more vigorously, patting her back and making shushing noises.
Keith leaned back and sighed. “It must be nice to stay home all day with Lily.
It’s like a permanent vacation.”
A laugh escaped my lips, harsh and brittle.
“A vacation? You think this is a vacation?”
Keith shrugged. “You know what I mean.
You’re not working right now, so you don’t get tired like I do.”
I stared at him, wondering if he’d always been this clueless or if it was a recent development.
Before I could respond, the timer on the oven buzzed. Lily wailed louder.
“Dinner’s ready,” I said flatly, handing him the baby. “Your turn.”
Keith took Lily awkwardly, holding her like she might explode.
“But I just got home.
I need to relax.”
“And I need to get dinner on the table,” I replied, walking to the kitchen. “Unless you’d prefer to do that instead?”
He frowned but didn’t argue. Small victories.
A week later, Keith came home with a grin so wide I thought his face might split in two.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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