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I don’t think I’ve ever done anything as isolating as staying at home with with a newborn baby, and five years ago during the first few months of my daughter’s life I filled my days with distractions to break up the monotony: various daytime talk shows, walks with the dog, multiple trips to the grocery store, and rigorous household cleaning rituals. It was this cleaning obsession of mine that helped most to redirect my brain from focusing only on how many more hours until my husband got home, and at first it was difficult to keep anything clean while physically attached to an infant. But I learned quickly, and in no time I could unload the dishwasher while breastfeeding simultaneously. Next I planned to balance teacups full of soup on my head while scrubbing the toilets, it just seemed so easy compared to caring for an infant.
As the months passed I developed certain routines to ensure that the house stayed tidy, certain ways of going about chores that worked with the rigors of childcare. So when my husband started working from home many months later and assumed some of the cleaning duties, I couldn’t help myself from pointing out that he was doing it wrong. Why was he using that cleanser on that surface? Or didn’t he know how to watch the baby and vacuum the couch at the same time? He needed a few weeks to get his bearings about him, but I was sure he would soon discover that my way was the right way, the superior way.
It wasn’t long before I realized, oops, I had become my own mother, and I was treating my husband like my mother treated me when it came to cleaning the house: rather awful. And once I gave him some space and let go, let him feel out the balance of parenthood and household chores himself, I realized it didn’t matter how we got to a tidy living space just as long as we got there. I remember one night as we were getting ready for bed, Jon started inspecting the work he had done earlier, looking over the toilet and the tiles on the floor. “I can’t tell you,” he said, “how much I love that spray cleanser.” Really? Because I wanted to tell him how hot that made me.
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It is always amazing when you start to do things, that your mother did….especially because you always todl yourself you wouldnt be like your mother….and then you end up that way.
I guess we realize that our mothers were awesome at the end ofthe day.
My husband does everything wrong! However, I never, NEVER tell him he’s doing it wrong (unless some antique or something is on the verge of destruction) because I would rather him do it wrong than not do it at all. It’s a fine line we walk trying to get people to help. Sometimes you just have to accept that if you want it done your way, you’re going to be doing it all yourself.