A week after the birth, I come home and we have guests. My husband’s cousin had arrived to go to college. Okay, I thought I’d let him apply and stay for a while. It was unpleasant that I was not asked, but I put up with it. Especially, as I thought, it would not last long.
I’m asleep in the morning. This 18-year-old kid wakes me up at seven in the morning and declares:
– I want breakfast.
In my sleep I tell him:
– Go warm some porridge for yourself. Or boil some dumplings, there should be a pack in the freezer.
– I can’t, I don’t know how. My mother said you would feed me.
And I’m terribly sleepy – my daughter woke up every two hours, like on a schedule. And such a discontinuous sleep deprived me of strength to the utmost.
– You’re not a baby. Put it in a bowl, put it in the microwave, in five minutes, take it out and eat it. Nothing difficult.
He’s gone. I fell asleep. He woke me up again half an hour later.
– Make me some coffee. – the undergrowth told me.
– Don’t go to my room, please, it’s unpleasant for me. If you want coffee, google it.
– But my mother said…” He started, but I immediately interrupted him.
– “I don’t care who told you what. I’m not your babysitter. Get out of here!
I’m sorry, but I sleep next to my daughter in my clothes. Sometimes I throw off the blanket. And I don’t want that kid in my bedroom while I’m sleeping.
Our whispering woke up my daughter, so I got up, changed her diaper, and fed her. And there he goes again!
– I can’t find my charger, give me the micro-usb.
I’m holding my smacking baby in my arms and he comes in and stares! At this point I couldn’t help myself and kicked him out with a chair against the doorknob, just to be on the safe side. My daughter was full and went to sleep, and I lay down next to her and was just beginning to fall asleep when my husband’s aunt called me:
– This is how you show your hospitality? You can’t even pour coffee for a boy! They took the meat, but they can’t feed the baby! – she began to yell into the tube.
– I’m still asleep. I have a baby that I’m feeding because it’s small. I’m sorry, your 18-year-old can feed himself. By the way, your son ate your meat alone yesterday. Goodbye! – I turned off the phone, hoping to get some sleep.
My daughter woke up two more times before dinner, and then she fell asleep full and changed her clothes. It was hard to walk – I was not allowed to give birth myself, so there was a planned cesarean section. I reached the kitchen and stunned: a pan with burnt porridge, half a pack of defrosted dumplings on the table, a pile of plates in the sink, bread with crumbs on the table. In the midst of all this splendor sat a guest, chatting on the phone:
– Yes, meet me. You can sleep over at my place, if you need anything. No, my folks don’t mind, I live at my brother’s place. Take earplugs with you, because the maggot is always yelling, keeping me awake.
I felt a bit of resentment, coming into someone else’s house, keeping me awake, making a mess, and insulting my child. I tapped him on the shoulder:
– Good morning.
He jumped up frightened and muttered into the phone:
– I’ll call you back, why are you up already? How long have you been standing here?
– A long time. And don’t invite guests to someone else’s house, you’re enough here alone. Call your mother and tell her to get an apartment for your maggot. You’re not staying here. And clean up the kitchen, please, I’m not your maid.
– I’m just kidding, it’s a pet name for kids: maggot, larva, – he began to justify himself.
– Imagine, I have the Internet, and I know who they call maggots. Call your mother,” I waddled back to the bedroom.
In the evening my husband came home from work and attacked me with accusations: how dare I persecute the poor boy.
– My mother-in-law is coming, she wants to know why you’re hurting her child.
– Look, I have neither the time nor the inclination to serve an 18-year-old pale frail who can’t even feed herself. I’m taking care of our child. He called our daughter “maggot” today, and he invited someone over for a sleepover. Do you think that’s okay? Inviting guests into someone else’s apartment with a small child? And I’m sure that’s just the beginning. Once the “boy” settles in, you and I are in for a world of hurt. I’m taking preventive measures: he has to move out. – I explained my position to my husband.
We handed the guest over to his screaming mother. I’m not going to describe the pile of insults this woman unleashed on me. But it was all my fault: I starved the baby, and I didn’t pay him enough attention. When I closed the door behind the screaming woman and her son, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I wondered how she’d ever thought of sending her undergrowth into a house where a baby was about to be born. Didn’t she even explain the rules of decorum?
