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An Open Letter To Anyone Suffering From Post-Natal Depression
July 26, 2017

A Letter To My Husband’s Boss

m-word-letter

Firstly, let me open this with a thank you for giving me the opportunity to be the best Mum possible. How did you do that? Well, you employ my husband, who is worth every penny and more to you by the way! (Pay rise wouldn’t kill you, inflation and all that).

By being at home and raising good, intelligent, well rounded children, I am preparing the next generation for you to employ.

I won’t tell you about the days I threaten to put them into care. It is mostly good days. But I am sure you have bad days too.

You see, I don’t think I could have done that while working full time too. I suffer from an illness that’s called ‘severe mothers guilt’. Not sure if you’ve ever heard of it? No? Well it’s real. If you survey some of your female employees, you will discover they are probably torn. Between doing their very best for you and your company, and being the best parent they can possibly be.

I miss working, I do. It was a toss-up with having a taste of both worlds, social sit down lunches without heart burn, or lunches on the run as I am running out the door to a GAA match, soccer match, playdate.

I do have a bone to pick with you though, now that I have softened you up. Yes, I know, I am that good. You see you have my husband, my three children’s Dad, for sixteen months now. You have put him in a position where he has to spend most of his week away from home. And we are not happy about this anymore. It has not gotten easier, it has gotten harder.

At first it was a novelty to sleep like a star fish, yes I will admit that. That wore off quickly. So now I sleep in a little ball on my own side, his side never disturbed. It’s a sad reality when I wake up and the other side is empty.

Yes, the house is cleaner – he is messier than six toddlers. He leaves a crumb trail from the kitchen counter to the sitting room. His chair looks like a bird feeding table when he gets up. And I curse under my breath when I am wiping them away. The kitchen is clean most days now, too clean, almost sterile.

The only real guilty pleasure I get is watching my own TV programmes. That’s a tough one when he is home at the weekends. But this can be solved with an extra TV connection in the shed for him. My consumption of wine has also become more frequent.

The evenings are long and lonely with just me and the TV.

I have less washing during the week, but then I receive a delivery of dirty clothes each Friday and sometimes Wednesday’s too. This is an unwanted present that I cannot return.

His hours at work are astronomical, we need to talk about this, he has no time to feed himself properly. So I spend every Sunday morning cooking up a batch of lunches and dinners for him to reheat. Just leave the ‘Best Wife’ award on the counter please! People think I am mad to do this. Yes, he is insured, well insured! But I have learnt the hard way, it’s not easy being a part time, single parent. So for now I will look after him.

What I am trying to tell you, I suppose, is enough is enough. We want him home. I will probably kill him within a few weeks of having him home. But that’s okay, I can plead insanity.

The kids miss him, I have so much DIY that needs to be done the snag list is getting longer. It’s looking more like a scroll at this rate.

So next time you plan on sending him away call me first!

 

Louise O’Gorman
Louise O’Gorman
I am a stay at home Mum and part time writer of articles and short stories. I am a fiercely independent forty something who spends her days massaging the ego of three young children. Only so I can create genius’s so I can retire and live the high life. Married to my childhood sweetheart the foundation to most of my happiness, on a good day the kids fill the rest of the happiness jar.