Six months postpartum, drowning in baby laundry and exhausted beyond words, I thought my husband would understand when our washing machine broke down. But instead of helping me, he said, “Wash everything by hand—people have been doing it for centuries.”
I never thought I would spend so much time doing laundry.
A tired woman on a chair | Source: Pexels
A tired woman on a chair | Source: Pexels
Six months ago, I gave birth to our first baby. Since then, my life has become a never-ending cycle of feeding, changing diapers, cleaning, cooking, and laundry. Lots of laundry. Babies use more clothes in a day than an entire football team.
On a good day, I washed at least two kilos of tiny onesies, bath towels, blankets, and bibs. On a bad day? Let’s just say I stopped counting.
A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels
A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels
So when the washing machine broke down, I knew I was in trouble.
I had just pulled out a pile of soaked clothes when it sputtered, made a sad squeaking noise, and shut off. I pressed buttons. Did nothing. I unplugged it, plugged it back in. Nothing.
My heart sank.
When Billy came home from work, I wasted no time.
A tired and perplexed woman | Source: Pexels
A tired and perplexed woman | Source: Pexels
“The washing machine is broken,” I said as soon as he walked through the door. “We need a new one.”
Billy barely looked up from his phone. “Huh?”
“I said the washing machine was broken. We need to replace it. Soon.”
He nodded absently, kicked off his shoes, and scrolled down. “Yeah. Not this month.”
A man on his phone in his living room | Source: Pexels
A man on his phone in his living room | Source: Pexels
I blinked. “What?”
“Not this month,” he repeated. “Maybe next month, when I get my salary.”
“Billy, I can’t go three weeks without a washing machine. The baby’s clothes need to be cleaned properly every day.”
A couple having a serious discussion | Source: Pexels
A couple having a serious discussion | Source: Pexels
Billy sighed as if I were asking something unreasonable. He put down his phone and stretched his arms above his head. “Look, I already promised to pay for my mom’s vacation this month. She really deserves it.”
I stared at him. “Your mother’s vacation?”
“Yes. She babysat for us. I thought it would be nice to do something for her.”
Babysitting?
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
I swallowed hard. His mother came over once a month. She would sit on the couch, watch TV, eat the dinner I’d made, and take a nap while the baby slept. This wasn’t babysitting. This was visiting.
Billy continued talking as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. “She said she needed a break, so I thought I’d cover her trip. It’s just for a few days.”
A man talking to his wife in his kitchen | Source: Pexels
A man talking to his wife in his kitchen | Source: Pexels
I cross my arms. “Billy, your mother doesn’t babysit. She comes, eats, naps, and goes home.”
He frowned. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, really? When was the last time she had a diaper changed?”
Billy opened his mouth, then closed it. “That’s not the point.”
I let out a high-pitched laugh. “Oh, I think so.”
A couple arguing in their kitchen | Source: Pexels
A couple arguing in their kitchen | Source: Pexels
He groaned, rubbing his face. “Look, can’t you just hand wash everything right now? People have been doing that for centuries. No one has died from it.”
I stared at him, feeling my blood boil. Washing everything by hand. As if I wasn’t already drowning in work, exhausted, sore, and only getting three hours of sleep a night.
An angry woman clutching her head | Source: Pexels
An angry woman clutching her head | Source: Pexels
I breathed slowly and deeply, my hands balling into fists. I wanted to scream, yell, make him understand how unfair this was. But I knew Billy. Arguing wouldn’t change his mind.
I exhaled and looked at the pile of dirty clothes stacked by the door. Fine. If he wanted me to wash everything by hand, that’s exactly what I would do.
The first load wasn’t so bad.
A pile of clothes | Source: Pexels
A pile of clothes | Source: Pexels
I filled the bathtub with soapy water, added the baby’s clothes, and started scrubbing. My arms were aching, but I told myself it was temporary. It would only last a few weeks.
By the third pass, my back was screaming. My fingers were raw. And I still had towels, sheets, and Billy’s work clothes waiting for me.
A tired woman sitting by a bathtub | Source: Midjourney
A tired woman sitting by a bathtub | Source: Midjourney
Every day was the same. Wake up, feed the baby, clean, cook, do the laundry by hand, wring it out, hang it up. By the time I was done, my hands were swollen, my shoulders stiff, and my body exhausted.
Billy didn’t notice.
A bored man on a couch | Source: Pexels
A bored man on a couch | Source: Pexels
He came home, took off his shoes, ate the dinner I’d made, and lay down on the couch. I could barely hold a spoon, but he never asked if I needed help. He never looked at my hands, red and cracked from hours of scrubbing.
One evening, after finishing another pile of laundry, I collapsed on the couch next to him. I grimaced as I rubbed my aching fingers.
Billy glanced at me. “What’s wrong?”
A tired woman on her sofa | Source: Pexels
A tired woman on her sofa | Source: Pexels
I stared at him. “What’s wrong with me?”
He shrugged. “You look tired.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “I wonder why.”
He didn’t even flinch. He just turned back to the television. That’s when something inside me snapped.
An annoyed woman in her kitchen | Source: Pexels
An annoyed woman in her kitchen | Source: Pexels
Billy wasn’t going to understand—unless he felt the inconvenience himself. If he wanted me to live like a 19th-century housewife, fine. He could live like a caveman.
So I planned my revenge.
The next morning, I prepared his lunch as usual. Except instead of the hearty meal he expected, I filled his lunchbox with rocks. Right on top, I placed a folded note.
A lunch box filled with stones | Source: Midjourney
A lunch box filled with stones | Source: Midjourney
Then I kissed his cheek and sent him to work.
And I waited.
At exactly 12:30, Billy burst through the front door, red-faced and furious.
“What did you do?” he shouted, slamming his lunch box on the counter.
I turned away from the sink, wiping my hands on a towel. “What do you mean, darling?”
A woman laughing in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
A woman laughing in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
He opened the lid, revealing the pile of pebbles. He grabbed the note and read it aloud.
“Men used to go and get food for their families themselves. Go hunt for your meal, make a fire with stones, and fry it.”
His face twisted with rage. “Are you out of your mind, Shirley? I had to open this in front of my colleagues!”
I cross my arms. “Oh, so public humiliation is wrong when it happens to you?”
A man shouting and wearing glasses | Source: Pexels
A man shouting and wearing glasses | Source: Pexels
Billy clenched his jaw. He looked like he was going to scream, but for once, he had no answer.
I crossed my arms and tilted my head. “Go on, Billy. Tell me how it’s different.”
His jaw tightened. “Shirley, this is… this is just childish.”
I let out a high-pitched laugh. “Oh, I see. So your suffering is real, but mine is just me being childish?”
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