I was in the hospital, and my husband was at home with the children. We have three of them: twin girls and a son. The older ones are three years old, the younger one is one year old. The hospital was at the end of summer, just before the kindergarten for girls. As soon as I was discharged, I heard from all sides: – What a good man he is! – A real father! He fed me, gave me drinks, and passed the medical examination! – You are lucky to have such a husband! – He needs to wash his feet and drink water! Good girl! That’s right: he’s a good boy. And I don’t wash his feet. Oh, no good! My husband’s and my parents are alive and well. We both come from good families. My husband works in shifts. Sometimes he is away from home for half a year. I work too. I am a confectioner by profession. Now I am on the second maternity leave in a row. I bake to order for girlfriends and friends. My husband and I live in my apartment. I will not tell you where I got the money to buy it.
I will say one thing: the living space is mine, bought without the help of relatives. My husband’s salary is twice as high as mine. But he has more expenses: help from his mother, bad habits, unjustified wastefulness. I have not seen any help for all three years since becoming a mother. My husband and my mothers believe that a woman should cope with children and everyday life on her own. Everything is according to the standard: the husband works, he is tired, the wife is a horse, pulls everything else, even if she also works. How my everyday life with children looks like: I feed, sing, teach to draw, letters, numbers, shapes, animals and their cubs, keep clean and tidy, bathe, treat, go to hospitals, read fairy tales, children learn poems in a playful way. And I am alone, without grandparents. I am a mother, it is my duty. And work was also squeezed into this list.
Sometimes it is hard. Like my husband spent a week and a half: Medical commission. A grandmother sat with my grandson. The granddaughters were registered to doctors by the second grandmother, who was not too lazy to go to the children’s clinic in the morning and take coupons. Food and cleaning. Again, grandmothers. Both of them. In chorus. Almost getting under each other’s feet. While one was rustling around our house, the other was baking fish and vegetables at her place to bring containers to her hungry son-in-law and grandchildren. Walks. Grandfathers. The same grandfathers who shout the loudest that taking care of children is a woman’s duty. Classes. What classes? What development? Father does so much already! In general, the man spent about a day alone with the children. Except for sleeping time. The rest of the time he had help from compassionate caring people who felt sorry for the father with three children. When I was discharged, two things were required of me: to pay tribute to my husband and stop whining about the hardships of the decree. After all, he was alone with three children for a week and a half!
He was not tired at all and concluded that maternity leave is a resort. I quote: “I do not understand why you can be tired!” I was so offended. A mother who does not leave her children around the clock is a whiner. And the father, with the full support of grandparents, is the best the world has ever seen. Okay, I told my husband. Since it is so easy to stay alone with three children, I’m going on vacation. For two weeks. Alone. Why? With kids it’s easy! – Pfft, you scared me! I’ll manage! – the husband was generous. I’m going. But before that, I asked the older generation to go deaf, blind and forget how to use phones for the next fourteen days. How is he alone? What kind of mother are you? You’re abandoning your children! – the grandmothers shouted in unison. I had to resort to blackmail and scare him with a complete cessation of communication. Yes, I dared to say that they would see their granddaughters and grandson ten times less often if they did not support me.
I had a great rest, turning off the phone. As soon as I crossed the threshold of the apartment, a bearded, shaggy man in a dirty T-shirt fell into my arms. The grandmothers kept their word: none of them came to help. And only then the man admitted that the decree was a job. And some other kind of work. Now, if someone from the older generation starts to devalue the mother’s work around the house, the man disperses everyone. He also revised his expenses. In particular, he cut back on his mother’s work and gave up bad habits. He appreciated that I am already tired, and I also take orders. He said: Stay with the children, there will be money. Minus my work, a big plus to free time. Some people who know this story still call me a cuckoo. And it does not matter. The main thing is that there is an effect. Finally. Do your parents help you with small children?
