Don’t ask, don’t get – At least that is what I was always told. For me it’s more – I ask, they negotiate.
If I need a pint of milk at lunch time, a counter offer of a loaf of bread and some butter, a week on Thursday is pretty bloody useless. So why the trend? I can’t imagine someone asking me to do something for them, only for me to negotiate better terms to suit myself!
I am in very unfamiliar territory here. Since having a baby, people visibly recoil at the mere thought of doing me a favour. Perhaps I should begin all my conversations with “Relax, I don’t need you to babysit…”.
During pregnancy you are always encouraged to ask for assistance. Take help when offered and don’t feel like you have to be Superwoman and do everything alone. In my experience, people want to help you but only in a way that suits them. In my first few weeks of motherhood, I had regular assistance from a family friend. She badgered me into allowing her to help, so I let her, to keep the peace. She came over on days and times that suited her. She would come and watch my daughter sleep while I had a nap or took a shower. During this time she would have a coffee and play on her IPad. Tough life eh? The reason for my sarcasm is that after two weeks of this, she claimed I was getting dependent on her and wanted to distance herself. She then called the following week asking to come round. WTF! My journey into spotting wolves in sheep’s clothing had begun. The true colours of people turned out to be more a pale shade of shit rather than a sunny side of yellow.
She was the first in a long line of true colour presentations coming my way. I was in recovery from childbirth, heading full throttle into Post Natal depression, not helped by the shocking lack of support I received once I was home. During these early weeks I was pressured and pushed into things that others thought was best. Meeting other women who also have a vagina and have carried a baby. I was introduced with such enthusiasm and passion. Two mothers in their thirties have decided to procreate! Well hold the shitting phone! That practically makes us the new Chandler and Joey of Mummyland.
Months later, my situation has not really improved much. I wanted to reach out to another family member recently. She has 3 children of her own and lives locally so I thought it would be nice for us to catch up over coffee. Simple right?
Not exactly – her response was:
- I can’t commit to a weekly thing (I didn’t ask)
- I know you asked for Friday night but Saturday works best for us then we can take her to the church creche on Sunday morning. (So you can’t cover the time I need and you are then going to dump my daughter in a church creche anyway!)
- Yes we can catch up. Why don’t you come to me and we can do the school run together? (I can barely contain my excitement. Are we going to go back to your place so I can run the hoover over for you too?)
My mother in law made a loose offer of assistance. ‘I can look after her, providing its during the day and her Grandfather and Aunty are also present’ (Wow, I know she is a handful but by the time all three of you can schedule a Saturday where you are all free, she will be 18!).
My mum is the only person to offer some actual tangible and helpful assistance. That said, it’s one hour a month booked in advance for my bikini wax. I asked her for some extra help last Sunday as I just needed a couple of hours break. Her response?
……………………….
Classic. If I ask my mum to do anything she doesn’t want to do or won’t benefit from, that’s what I get. Silence. She will then not respond to any messages, until the time of required assistance has passed, then she will call me as if nothing has happened. Beautiful. Gives me such a warm fuzzy feeling inside, knowing that my own family, act like I have leprosy whenever I need them. The very same people that tout the importance of family are the very same individuals that can’t be arsed.
Some friends have stepped up but this is the kicker. The friends that offer to help me are the people I want to hang out with baby-free. Irony is well and truly messing with me.
Superwoman it is then. My first call of duty this week…a bikini wax with babe in arms. Mission accepted. Mission accomplished. My beautician has seen it all but even this was a first for her. I was hoping that this would have an effect on my mum. Make her realise how little she helps me or how little time or support I have. Her response to my rather unique juggling act…
“Ahh the salon girls will love her in there!”. What a tit.
I had to take my daughter to the hospital for a check up recently too. I remember talking to my mum about her coming along but was not sure exactly how we left things. When messaging her to clarify if we made plans, I received a very curt and civil reply ‘no plans were made’. All-righty-then!
My baby was so brave. I am so proud of her. Proud of me too. I maybe surrounded by 50 shades of useless but I get the job done. Alicia Keys said it best:
Even when I’m a mess
I still put on a vest
With an S on my chest
Oh yes
I’m a Superwoman