Part 2: The Plan
I called my sister first. She lived two hours away, but she had been begging me for years to come visit. “I need a break,” I said. “Can I come stay with you for a week?”
“Of course,” she said. “Bring the kids.”
“No,” I said. “Just me.”
There was a long pause. Then she said, “I’ll make up the guest room.”
I called my mother next. She lived in Florida, retired, and had been asking me to visit for years. “I need a break,” I said. “Can I come stay with you for two weeks?”
“Of course,” she said. “Bring the kids.”
“No,” I said. “Just me.”
There was a long pause. Then she said, “I’ll book the flight.”
I called my best friend from college. She lived in New York, worked in finance, and had been telling me for years that I needed to get away. “I need a break,” I said. “Can I come stay with you for a month?”
“Of course,” she said. “Bring the kids.”
“No,” I said. “Just me.”
There was a long pause. Then she said, “I’ll clear my calendar.”
I called my old boss. She had offered me a job three years ago, before I had gotten pregnant with our fourth child. I had turned it down because Carter had said we needed me at home. “Is that job still available?” I asked.
“Actually,” she said, “we just opened a new position. It’s remote. Full-time. Great benefits. When can you start?”
“Monday,” I said.
I called a cleaning service. I called a grocery delivery service. I called a babysitter. I called a nanny agency. I called a therapist.
And then I called a lawyer.
By the time Carter came home from golf, I had a plan. I had a backup plan. I had a backup plan for my backup plan.
He walked in the door, still smelling like sunscreen and beer, and found me sitting at the kitchen table. The kids were at the neighbor’s house. The house was quiet.
“Hey,” he said. “Where is everyone?”
“Sit down,” I said.
He sat down.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I said. “About me being tired. About me being no fun. About how I used to be so energetic.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No,” I said. “You were right. I have been tired. I have been no fun. I have been exhausted and overwhelmed and invisible. And I’ve been doing it all alone.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand.
“So I’ve decided to make some changes.”
“What kind of changes?”
I slid a piece of paper across the table. He picked it up and read it. His face went pale.
“This is a list of everything I do,” I said. “Every diaper. Every bottle. Every school run. Every load of laundry. Every meal. Every bath. Every bedtime story. Every tantrum. Every doctor’s appointment. Everything.”
He stared at the list. It was three pages long.
“I’m going to take a break,” I said. “A real break. I’m going to visit my sister. Then my mother. Then my best friend. I’m going to start a new job. I’m going to see a therapist. I’m going to remember who I am.”
“What about the kids?” he asked.
“They’re yours too,” I said. “You wanted six. You got six. Now you’re going to take care of six.”
He started to argue. He started to make excuses. He started to complain.
But I was already packed.
