They have clean houses, wear make-up every day, do fun crafting activities or baking, remember all the important dates at school and don’t look like they’re constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown.
I caught myself thinking, “maybe I’m just bad at this.” Then immediately felt guilty. Because I love my kids. But sometimes love feels like wading through treacle while holding three backpacks and a lunchbox that leaks yoghurt.
I just wish it was easier to keep up. I wish I didn’t feel like life was a constant game of tug-of-war between two things in which there could only ever be one winner. The house could be gleaming, but I would look like I’d been dragged through a bush backwards. The kids could look smart and put together, but the house then looks like a tornado has hit it. I could be caught up on school emails but then behind on planning meals for the week.
It was like I was always failing at something whilst watching all the other mums succeed at everything and look good while doing it.
Dan reappeared after rescuing Ruby and her missing unicorn. He leaned against the doorframe. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I lied.
He didn’t buy it. “You look… frazzled.”
“Thanks.”
He stepped forward, brushing a stray hair from my face. “Seriously. You’ve been running on fumes lately.”
I sighed. “I just feel like I can’t keep up. The house, the kids, work and then Ruby gets sick. No doubt she will pass it onto the others and they will be off school and guess who has to deal with it all? Yep. Me. It’s like no matter how hard I try, nothing I ever do is enough. There’s always more washing, more crumbs, more everything.”
He nodded slowly. “I know. But you’re doing amazing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t patronise me.”
“I’m not. You keep this whole circus going.”
“But I don’t want to be told I’m doing amazing. I want a break. I don’t want to be super-mum. That title is way too overrated. I just want the list to be shorter or the demands be less. It's just too much.”
“I get it, it’s a lot. And I promise I’ll start helping more... with no ulterior motives.”
I smiled faintly. “That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”
The next night he actually did.
He bathed the kids while I folded laundry in peace. He read The Gruffalo three times in a row because Ruby insisted, and didn’t even complain when she asked him to do the voices. When I peeked in, he was crouched on the floor, growling like a deranged fox, and all three kids were howling with laughter.
Something about that sight, him, messy-haired and silly and trying, made my chest ache in the best way.
Maybe wooing wasn’t about flowers or lemon-scented microwaves. Maybe it was this. Maybe it was taking some of the mental load and calling it his own. Maybe we didn’t need big date nights or earth-shattering sex (although that’s always a nice bonus). Maybe if the pressure I feel day in, day out was reduced, I’d be more inclined to show affection and intimacy to Dan which is something that means so much to him.
Later, after the house was finally quiet, I sank onto the sofa beside him, feet tucked up underneath me.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“For what?”
“For today. For helping. For not expecting anything after.”
He smiled. “Who says I’m not expecting anything?”
I groaned. “Dan.”
He chuckled. “Relax. I mean tea. I was expecting tea.”
“Oh.”
“Unless you were thinking...”
I smacked his arm. “You’re such a dick”
