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I think I should call a press conference for hacking this month without a domestic assistant. I must however say I have been so close to running out of my mind every evening when I get back home. Sure, these people hold a special place in our homes. I am not saying they are the backbones of our homes, so please, don’t come to me guns blazing.
All I am saying is they make running a home smoother than it would have been without them - especially for those of us with younger children whose mode of communication varies from wailing to screaming even when nothing is really the problem.
That aside, after wading through this tough month, I can’t help but think about those married career women with young children; those whose partners prefer not to eat meals prepared by domestic managers.
I have been thinking about it every evening, what if I was one of you? Here I am with a three-year-old who I have to pick up from day-care each evening after work. By the time we both get home, my head is spinning like a tornado and my daughter is wailing even at the sight of a fly going about its business out the window.
Sometimes, I even try to talk to the dishes in the kitchen sink, begging them to rise and clean themselves. Cooking alone is a big issue as my daughter always wants to cook with me. I try to make her leave the kitchen by fully surrendering the TV to her and enticing her with cartoons but all I get is wail after wail.
I have since mastered the art of using my eyes and breathe to talk to her. Whenever she crosses my path, I breathe out so heavily and give her ‘the look’. Only then will she settle, though for only five minutes or so then she will be back to wailing. If she isn’t wailing, she will be calling me every minute to ask a question. Woe unto me if I do not answer. The questions she asks are enough to make me add sugar to the rice instead of salt.
“Mama, have you picked me up from the day-care?” “Mama, am I calling your name too much?”, “Mama, look at me, I am talking to you.”
Her underdeveloped pronunciation need concentration with all five senses before I can respond, otherwise I have to be prepared for more wails.
So this is why I sit there wondering how my married friends with young children cope. I think about how they walk back home after a tough day in office and an hour or more in traffic. I see them in my imagination dragging their weary feet into their homes and trying to stay alive after being ambushed by their children at the door as soon as it swings open.
Then I see their husbands sitting on the most comfortable sofa with their feet up and the day’s paper in their hands. The men’s eyes must say, “Just put that handbag down, calm those children down, then get into the kitchen and make me some tea followed by my meal.”
Then I see them struggling to breathe in and out and I see them remembering their hefty dowry. I can feel them murmuring the words, ‘Till death do us part’. Then I see them pull themselves together, smile back at their husbands and limp into the kitchen.
The smell of food burning in my own kitchen always jolts me back to reality. As I sat there thinking about other people’s problems, I was creating one of my own.
This month got me losing weight at an alarming rate. Not because I want to but because I either burnt my food due to fatigue or I was too tired to even know the location of my mouth after preparing dinner.
If I didn’t faint in January, I am not fainting any time soon. To my fellow career mothers who always have to personally attend to every need after a tough day at work, I say, salute!
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Your place in heaven is complete with a socket, a phone charger and free Wi-Fi.
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