The Agreement

On our wedding night, my husband made me a promise. As long as we are husband and wife, I would never have to work a day outside our home, and I happily agreed. I mean, what new wife wouldn't? How many women can say they get to stay home, take care of their husbands, and raise their family?

He only had three conditions.

I take good care of his kids.

I keep his house clean.

I cook a meal every night and make his plate.

When I asked why making his plate is important, he said it's something his mother always did for his father to show a little love after a long day. I thought it was a sweet sentiment and, again, agreed wholeheartedly.

Shortly after our wedding, my husband moved me into a new home in a new housing development with hardwood floor, marble countertops, and every creature comfort a new wife and future mother could want. I couldn't wait to fill our single-story five-bedroom, two-bath home with lots of babies!

I was the envy of all my friends. They were so jealous they had to work and rely on daycare while I got to be home with my babies. One by one, they stopped calling and coming by, but that was okay. I would never miss a gummy, toothless smile or wobbly first step. I would be present for every milestone, and I couldn't be happier.

Being a housewife was easy.

I had our first child within our first year of marriage. Our son was such a sweetheart. Everyone said what a delightful baby he was because he never cried, and I doted on him. He was my special boy, and I know a mom shouldn't have a favorite, but he was mine.

Our second son was born almost a year after our first. He was a little more of a handful, but I handled it.

I had our daughter ten months later. I had hoped she would be a Daddy's girl, but she preferred my cuddles, which was fine because she was my only daughter and, like my oldest son, had a special place in my heart. Things became more difficult, but once I got them on the same napping and feeding schedule, my load lightened a tad bit. I tried to follow the old adage when they sleep, you sleep, but something always needed to be done around the house. I found the few spare minutes I had were as precious as breathing.

Our fourth son was hard on me. He was the first one that I had a difficult pregnancy. I suffered from morning sickness my entire term and ended up in the hospital from dehydration. I gave birth early at thirty-two weeks, but thankfully he was born healthy. He cries a lot, more than my other kids, and needs constant contact. It's difficult at times, but I do the best I can.

After our fourth, it was more challenging for me to get pregnant, and I was thankful. My husband wanted to see a fertility specialist, but I told him it would happen when it happens. Also, had we gone to a specialist, he would have found out I was on birth control. Besides, it hadn't been five years, and here I am with four kids, three of which are still in diapers. My oldest tries to help when he can, but he's so young. He should be outside playing with friends, not cooped up in the house with me.

Just when I hoped my husband had given up on wanting more kids, I was pregnant again. My birth control had failed me. This pregnancy wasn't difficult like my last, but I had to have a cesarean at 38-weeks because my blood pressure was so high. I spent three days in the hospital and I was grateful for the nurses who insisted on taking the baby to the nursery so I could rest. Unfortunately, when my husband came to visit, he made the nurses bring the baby back.

Shortly after our last child was born, my husband came home livid. He ranted and raved, screaming about our deal, and yelled at me until I recited it like a child.

I promised to take care of the kids, and I do the best that I can.

I agreed to keep the house clean, and I have for the most part.

I promised to have his dinner ready and make his plate, and it’s sitting on the table waiting.

He yelled because the kids were running around like hooligans in dirty diapers beyond the point of needing a change. They hadn't had their baths, and he got angry that our oldest was asking for help with a school project. He told me I was not holding up my end of the bargain.

He screamed because the dinner I served was what I made for the children. Once upon a time, I prepared meals that rivaled any restaurant, but with five kids, it became easier to rely on processed foods such as hotdogs or chicken nuggets and canned vegetables. Again, he reminded me of our bargain but didn't give me any credit for making his plate and serving him.

He ranted about the condition of the house. The dishes were dirty, and the laundry had piled up. The beds were messy, and he complained he could smell the trash full of pissy and shitty diapers. Once again, he reminds me of the arrangement before pushing his plate away. He stood up, calling me lazy, and told me to get up off my ass before going to his office. I jumped when he slammed the door.

After the kids were asleep, I took a shower and went to bed. I was so tired, but my husband wanted to make love. I asked him if he would please use a condom, but he ignored me as he pulled my panties off and climbed on top. After he climaxed, he rolled over and went to sleep while I wondered why I even bothered to ask him about protection because I was already pregnant with our sixth child. I cried myself to sleep, determined to make tomorrow a better day.

Tomorrow is today.

I cook breakfast this morning, a peace offering to my husband. He grumbles he’s not hungry and hurries out of the door. I shake it off and fix my babies a good breakfast.

I load the kids in the car and take my oldest to school. I kiss him goodbye, reminding him to have a good day and to learn a lot.

At home, I tend to the children individually. I give them all baths before putting them down for naps so I can make my husband happy.

I clean the house as I've never cleaned before. I vacuum and dust while doing loads and loads of piled-up laundry. I scrub the kitchen spotless and shine the bathroom to a polished glow. The house smells like fresh linen on a spring day, even though it’s the middle of winter.

After I clean the house, I prepare my husband's favorite meal; Mississippi pot roast with mushrooms, potatoes, and carrots in the crockpot. As I fold the laundry, the delicious smell fills the house and makes my mouth water. I want to try some but decide this special meal is just for my husband and husband alone.

At two o'clock, I go and sign my oldest out of school early. My baby boy asks where his brothers and sister are, but I tell him this was our time together, just me and him. I take him to McDonald's, a treat he doesn't get all the time. He has his favorite chicken McNuggets and fries with a chocolate shake while I happily watch him eat. After, I let him play in the jungle gym before going home, where I insist he takes a bath and nap. He resists, but eventually, I was able to get him to lie down peacefully.

The only thing left was for my husband to come home. Our children are all clean from the baths I gave them earlier and sleeping soundly. The house is clean, and every garment is laundered, folded, and put away neatly. All the bedding has fresh comforters and sheets, and the good towels are hanging in the bathroom. I also put the fancy soap out we received as gifts from our wedding that we never use because, according to my husband, that’s for special occasions or guests. His meal was in the crockpot and ready. The only thing left for me to do was make his plate, but I'm tired.

So tired.

I think I’ll take a bath and nap with my babies after I take the pills I got from the doctor for my depression.

My husband can make his plate from now on, as I have fulfilled my part of the marital arrangement.