If only everyone got this kind of help!
Polly, Ill come round today and help out with the little ones.
Balancing my phone awkwardly between my ear and shoulder, I tried rocking Max, who was screaming as if the world was ending.
Thank you, Mrs. Dawson, but were managing on our ow
Beep-beep-beep. Shed already hung up.
From the lounge came a loud crashSam had overturned a box of blocks, and Molly immediately squealed with delight, flinging them across the room. Max was wailing in my arms as though I hadnt fed him in days, though hed finished his bottle just twenty minutes ago.
I glanced at Tony. He was on the sofa, completely absorbed in whatever he was reading on his phone. A bit too absorbed.
You called your mum.
It wasnt a question.
Tony shrugged, eyes fixed on his screen.
Yeah I did. Youre struggling, Pol. Mum can help.
I almost said I was coping. That I didnt need help. That somehow, in these three months since Max was born, Id kept the house running, fed three kids, and even managed some sleep occasionally. But Max howled again, so I just walked off to the bedroom, rocking him back and mentally bracing myself for Mrs. Dawsons arrival.
She turned up for lunch carrying two massive suitcases and an air of someone coming to rescue a sinking ship.
Oh Polly, you look absolutely knackered! Mrs. Dawson declared as she swept past me, her sharp eyes scanning the flat. And just look at this state. Well, Im here now. Well get everything in order.
By the end of that first day, I was already wishing Id double-checked all the locks.
What on earth is this? Mrs. Dawson eyed the chopping board where I was slicing courgette.
Stew. The kids love it.
Stew? She said it like Id dished up poison. No, no, no. Tony likes a proper casserole, my recipe. Off you go, Ill do it.
I stepped back, clutching the vegetable knife.
The next morning, she woke me at seven, though Max had only settled at five.
Polly! How are the children dressed? Are you having a laugh?
Sam and Molly stood in their favourite onesiesone bright yellow, one red. I bought them especially so I could spot the twins easily at the playground.
Theyre fine.
Fine? You reckon thats normal? They look like little parrots! Besides, its chilly out, theyll catch their deaths. I brought some decent warm clothes.
Before I could protest, she started pulling out grey trousers and beige jumpers from her suitcase.
Theyre comfortable in
Polly. Mrs. Dawson folded her arms, tears gleaming in her eyes. Im here to help. And youre being rude. Im older, I raised Tony, I know best. Youyou just dont appreciate anything I do.
She sank onto a chair, hand clutching her chest in high drama.
Tony poked his head out of the bedroom, looked at his mother, then at me.
Oh come on, he whispered. Mum only means well. Were lucky to have so much help.
I said nothing. I changed the twins into the boring jumpers, smiled at Mrs. Dawson, and felt another little piece of me break.
By the end of the week, our flat felt more like Mrs. Dawsons domain. Shed rearranged the nurserythe cots moved to where they should be. The kids routines were now set by her clock. She watched over my shoulder as I fed Max, nitpicking at how I held the bottle.
Tony kept disappearing onto the balcony to stare blankly at the car park, pretending nothing was wrong.
I couldnt sleep. I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, flinching at every sound in case it was Mrs. Dawson coming to check if the kids were lying the proper way.
In the morning, Id get up shattered, hands trembling, making coffee that did nothing to bring me back to life.
On Thursday evening, I opened the cupboard for baby formula and froze. The shelves were empty.
Mrs. Dawson, I called out to the kitchen, where she was chopping cabbage for yet another casserole, wheres Maxs formula?
Threw out that rubbish, she replied without turning around. Full of chemicals. Read about it yesterday. I bought proper food.
She nodded at the table.
There it wasa cheap tub of formula. The very brand that had caused Max to break out in a rash just a month ago.
Hes allergic to that one.
Nonsense, she said. He was only allergic because you fed him wrong. This time will be different, youll see.
I stared between the tub and Mrs. Dawson. Tonyprobably sulking on the balcony again. Something snapped, quietly but completely.
Forty minutes later, I was in a taxi with Max held tight. Id dug out the twins brightly coloured onesies from beneath Mrs. Dawsons imported greys and chucked the necessities in a sports bag. Sam and Molly, barely dressed, gazed out the window.
I burst into tears on my mums doorstep.
Mum, I cant. I just cant do it anymore
She pulled me into the kitchen, sat me down, poured tea, and stroked my head while I sobbed into my cup.
Its alright, love. Youll stay here for now. Itll work out, youll see.
My phone started buzzing at eleven and didnt stop until four in the morning.
Polly, what are you playing at? Tony roared down the line. Mums beside herself! She was only trying to help! She just wants whats best for us!
I just want us to live in peace! I hissed back, trying not to wake the kids. She threw out Maxs food, Tony! Hes allergic to that stuff she replaced it with!
Oh, allergic again. Youre forever overreacting! Mum knows best! Shes older!
Well, let her live with you then!
Selfish hysteric, he spat. Youd not manage without my mum. Get back here now.
Im not coming back as long as shes there.
Long silence. Then Tony grunted, Suit yourself, and hung up.
The next morning, I went to the registry office and filed for divorce.
Three days later, I popped back for the rest of my things. Alone. My mum watched the kids. Mrs. Dawson caught me in the hallway.
How could you do this to us, Polly? How could you take the children from their father and their nan? Its cruel! After all Ive done for youall the love Ive given! If everyone had the help I gave, the world would be a better place!
I looked at Mrs. Dawsonthis woman who steamrolled my life under the banner of help. Whod chucked out Maxs food and bought the wrong one. Whod reorganised the furniture and children, and booted me out of my own kitchen. I heard my own voicecold, unfamiliar:
Youll manage. Youll all be fine.
She recoiled, breathless. Tony burst from the lounge, grabbed my wrist.
What do you think youre doing? How can you speak to my mother like that?
I pulled away, met my husbands eyesthis grown man who still ran to his mum for everything.
Dont touch me.
I packed up the leftovers from the bedroom. Left without saying goodbye.
The divorce was finalised two months later. Tony kept calling for a couple of weeks, then gave up. Mrs. Dawson sent a long message about how Id ruined her sons life and broken up the family. I deleted it unread.
Mums place was cramped but peaceful. Id comfort Max at night rocking him in our tiny kitchen, staring at the darkness outside. During the day, I took the twins to the playground, fed them veggie stew, dressed them in their favourite bright onesies.
Six months later, Sam and Molly started nursery. I landed a remote editing jobworking on documents after bedtime. Money was tight, but we got by.
Evenings, Id curl up on the sofaMax asleep in his cot, the twins snuggled under my arms begging for stories. Id read them The Three Little Pigs, putting on different voices, while Molly giggled and Sam nodded solemnly at every page.
In those moments, leaning back and watching my children, I knew Id done the right thing. What lay aheadraising three children alonewould be tough, sometimes lonely, sometimes frightening. But it was right.
