18April
I cant shake the feeling that Im constantly being judged for the choices I make as a new mother. Yesterday, after being discharged from Manchester Royal Infirmary with my newborn Harper, we finally got home. My husband, Christopher, his parents and my own parents all showed up to welcome us. We sat around the kitchen table for a while, but after an hour the guests left, leaving Christopher, Harper and me alone.
True to his habit, Christopher flopped onto the sofa and turned the telly on, while I tackled the mess in the kitchenfour days of my absence had turned it into a disaster zone. Once Id fed Harper and shed drifted off, I thought I might catch a quick nap in the nursery. The day was already exhausting enough.
Before I could doze, there was a frantic knock at the front door. When I opened it, I found the people Christopher had already invited in. JaneChristophers older sisterher husband, and two of her friends, whom I barely knew, were standing there.
Little brother, weve come to celebrate you! Jane chirped, I remember when you were a tot, and now lookalready a dad! The rest crowded around Christopher, hugging and kissing him.
Jane, could you keep it down, please? Harper just fell asleep, I whispered.
Come off it! Babies this tiny cant hear a thing. Youd better set the table weve brought some cakes and biscuits, Jane replied, pushing a plate onto the table.
I laid out the leftovers from the dinner with my parents. Looks a bit sparse, one of Janes friends remarked.
Sorry, we werent expecting guests. Ive just come from the hospital, I explained. All the blame falls on Christopherhes been running the house without me.
Ladies, no need to argue! Ive ordered three pizzas, so no one will go hungry, Christopher announced.
The visitors lingered until around nine oclock, when I finally told them I needed to bathe Harper and get her to bed. As they left, Christopher muttered under his breath,
Vicky, you could have been a lot more polite. They came to wish us well and you spent the whole time running around the baby, then practically sent everyone packing.
I snapped back, What else was I supposed to do? Its my first day out of the postnatal wardhow can I entertain guests? At least they brought a cheap rattling toy for the baby.
He then declared, From now on, the baby is the priority in this house. Harper needs a strict routine, so Im asking you not to invite anyone over for the next three months.
Fine, I said. If I want to see friends, itll have to be somewhere else.
A month later, Christopher was at work and I stayed home with Harper. The little girl was calm, and I managed to keep the house running, though I stopped trying to make elaborate mealssimple dishes were enough. Christopher never complained, and life settled into a quiet rhythm.
Then a new problem surfaced, this time from my motherinlaw, Linda. She claimed that the solution lay in making me help my motherinlaws mother, Ethel, who lives in a tiny hamlet about a hundred miles from Manchester.
Ethel, an eightyyearold widow, lives in a modest cottage in the Cotswolds with none of the modern comforts: water comes from a well, firewood is stored in a barn, and everything else is kept in the yard. The plot is only ten acres, which she tends herself, with occasional help from her daughter and grandchildren, who only assist with planting and digging potatoesfood that they eat throughout the winter.
This winter, Ethel fell ill with a bad cough and could no longer manage the garden. Linda insisted that I spend the whole summer in the village with Harper to help her. At first I thought she was joking, but she was deadserious.
I cant take Mum into the citythe garden is already full. Who will look after it? Ill only be home on weekends, and who will fetch water from the well during the week? I complained.
The well is only three hundred yards away, but its a heavy bucket to carry. She hauls half a bucket each time. Do you know how much water she needsfor the house and the garden? She spends half the day shuttling back and forth, Linda replied.
Im not becoming a water carrier, Linda, I retorted.
You could use the carttwo fortylitre barrels fit on it. Its not up to Ethel any more, but you can manage. The garden work isnt hard either, she suggested.
No, Ill buy the potatoes and other veg from the supermarket. Let the people who reap the harvest work the beds, I replied, turning her down. Send Jane. She doesnt work either, I added.
Jane has two children, Linda reminded me.
And you think I have none? I snapped. Dont compareJanes kids are five and three, they need constant care. And little Arthur will have to stay at nursery all summer, which is fine.
What about Harper? Linda pressed. Shes not going anywhere. Feed her, put her in the pram, and youre done.
You know I have to take Harper to the clinic every month for checkups and vaccinations, I said.
You could skip the appointments. Shes healthy; theres no need to waste time in the surgerymore chances to catch something then, Linda argued.
Fine, youll go. No one else. My mother raised all three of my children. I never stayed on maternity leave for long, she concluded.
Two months later, Jane handed over her mothers duties to Vicky and Christopherfour children in total. Now Ethel is frail, and its time for us to settle her debts, i.e., help her out.
I respect Ethel; I know shes helped you a lot. But I owe her nothing personally. You, Jane, Vicky and Christopher owe her, not me. I wont be paying other peoples debts, I told her.
Friday morning, Christopher reminded me, Did you pack? Were heading to the village tomorrow.
Ive already told your mother, and Im repeating it: Im not going to any village, and I certainly wont be taking Harper. What if she gets sick? Do I have to walk a hundred miles to the town on foot? I shouted.
The nearest bus doesnt even stop there; the road just passes by. Theres no shop at all, he replied.
The shop is only in the next hamlet, I retorted. And you expect me to sprint two miles with a baby just to buy a loaf? I dont even know if you need us or not.
When your mother asks me to lug fortylitre barrels, you stay silent. So you agree? How am I supposed to lift a barrel when I weigh fiftyseven kilos?
You dont have to fill the barrels completely, Christopher said. Enough arguing. If Mum said youll go, youll go. No one else. Father will pick us up tomorrow by ten. Pack today.
After he left for work, I started gathering my things, but not before calling my own parents.
My mother, who worked as a nurse in a childrens ward, was skeptical about Lindas plan to lock my newborn into a remote village.
An infant under a year needs constant monitoring. You cant skip all the specialist visits, she protested. Its reckless.
My father quietly helped load the car.
We drove to my parents flat, where we stayed for the night. When Christopher got home and found the house empty, he immediately knew where wed gone. He called me several times that evening, but I didnt answer.
Later he came over himself, only to realize Id made a decision he hadnt fully grasped.
Youre being sent off to work in a mine? To a village? Because of a silly idea? he asked.
Yes, I created this problem for myself. Two years ago, when we married, I fell for youtall, broadshouldered, kind. I didnt realize I was marrying a man whose mothers son follows every command she gives. If mum had sent you to work in a mine, youd have objected too.
Will you ever come home? he asked.
No, because home is where youre safe, loved, and protected. You never became that protector. Live with your mother, I replied.
Six months later we finally divorced. The house feels emptier now, but at least Harper can sleep through the night without the weight of everyone elses expectations pressing down on us.
