You Should've Cleaned Up Last Night

5:00 am: You despair at the sound of the alarm. You had been chasing sleep for several hours now, and your eyes burn in the darkness from exhaustion. Beside you, tiny hands clutch the seams of your pajamas. You snuggle closer and inhale deeply, basking in his aroma as you caress the little hairs on his head. He smiles in his sleep and you watch him dream for a while. Must be nice, you think to yourself. He sighs as you rise out of bed, and gently tuck him back in. You move quietly across the room, being careful to not wake his older siblings. You’re met with the previous night’s clutter as you shut the bedroom door.

You should’ve cleaned up last night.

5:28 am: Sighing as you make your way into the kitchen, you curse as you trip over your eldest son’s firetruck. Staring at the disaster pile of dishes in the sink and crusted food on the counters, you try to find the energy to make yourself something to eat, anything. You slather peanut butter onto a small tortilla with the last clean knife and roll it up. Looking at the time, you realize you’re not going to be able to take a shower as you had planned. It’s not like you really had the energy for it anyway. As you eat, you sit on the couch and pull out your phone.

You should’ve gotten up earlier.

5:53 am: The dog barks and startles everyone awake. Cries interrupt your mindless scrolling and you rush to the bedroom, tripping again over the firetruck and stubbing your toe. You let out a sharp cry of irritation.

You should’ve picked that up instead of playing on your phone, you had time. You’re so lazy.

1...2...3..

Bubbling anger simmers down as you exhale and open the door.

6:41 am: “But I can’t do it!” Your eldest son whines as you struggle in a panicked frenzy. “Please, just hold on for a second so I can get your brother dressed,” you plead. The baby’s screams are piercing, and you’re trying to keep calm as you notice that your half-dressed daughter has fallen back asleep on her bed.

You’re going to be late!

“But I can’t!” He cries loudly, pushing one of his shoes into your lap. His frustration wakes your daughter, who is now screaming bloody murder in protest. The dog jumps onto the bed and shakes, her loose blonde fur floating down on freshly washed sheets.

There’s too much going on, it’s too much noise!

“Just STOP!” You snap, and everyone quiets. The dog slinks away to her kennel. You pick the baby up to hush him, and he settles down on your chest. “You’ve put your shoes on a thousand times before without my help, now PUT THEM ON!”

Quiet tears fall from his eyes. He sniffles and takes his shoes into the living room, alone. You finish getting your daughter ready and walk them to school in silence.

They’re going to grow up hating you. You’re a horrible mother.

7:55 am: On the way back home, you glance at the neighborhood pond. The biting winds and its frozen surface remind you that you don’t have a proper coat for this rare Texas weather. You tuck the ends of the baby’s blanket back into the stroller around him and wish for summer.

12:20 pm: You’ve spent the last few hours switching back and forth between cleaning, taking care of the baby, and trying to write this story. Still, it feels like nothing has been accomplished and you let out a frustrated sigh.

It’s never going to get clean, no matter how hard you try!

Just give up already.

You’re broke, you need to find clients!

Your family will be homeless if you can’t make money.

So u s e l e s s...

The baby rubs his eyes and whines, signaling for his nap. Kissing his little fingers, you take him into the bedroom and lay down to nurse him.

3:12 pm: You jolt awake from a nightmare, startling the baby. He frightfully cries and you shush him, rubbing his back apologetically. Then, the dreadful realization hits you. Reaching for your phone, you discover two missed calls from the school and four from your children’s father.

You’re late!

You should’ve set an alarm.

You’d better hurry – what if they call CPS?

You put the baby in the stroller and race out the door. If you can manage to run without slipping on the ice, you might be able to make it in fifteen minutes. You look a little longer at the pond as you pass.

4...5...6...

3:43 pm: Anxiety clutches your throat, and your eyes shift away from the onlooking teachers as you gather your children. “I’m so sorry,” you say, dejectedly. “It won’t happen again.”

The school counselor nods, accepting your apology. “We just don’t want this to become habitual,” she explains, waving a manicured hand. “I understand,” you nod, curling up inside. Limping away, you warn the littles to be mindful of the slippery ice. The counselor looks on with pity.

Everyone was judging you.

4:55 pm: You’ve finally made it out of the cold and back into your apartment. Your son and daughter squabble over tablet rights while you prepare dinner. You completed a few errands while you were out, but now you can’t summon the energy for something elaborate. You decide on soup noodles, to which the children happily exclaim. Your son asks if dinner is ready while the water is yet to boil.

5:11 pm: The baby is starting to fuss as he scoots around on the floor. You know he is just wanting to be held, so you oblige. You try to wash a few dishes while holding him, to no avail. Your son complains of starvation. You acknowledge his hunger and assure him that you won’t let him starve to death.

5:40 pm: The baby squirms in your arms almost causing you to lose hold of him. You place him back down onto his elephant mat, and he announces his displeasure. Your daughter sneaks into the kitchen and playfully startles you, causing you to burn your hand on the pot. Your son predicts his death from thirst.

Please, just give me a second...

...7...

6:41 pm: You finally manage to get your son to eat his soup noodles but surprisingly, your daughter finishes all of hers. You have just under a half-hour to get the kids in bed and well-rested for school tomorrow. As they’re bathing, you hear a knock on the door. You reluctantly open it to your children’s father, and he makes his way inside. Despite his domestic past, you remain cooperative and he stays for a while. By the time 7:30 pm comes around, the kids are still awake and playing with their father. The atmosphere shifts as you announce bedtime and herd the children into the room.

8:14 pm: It takes them a while to finally settle down and fall asleep, but the baby remains playfully awake. Back in the living room, the kids’ dad goes on a tangent about his various business ventures, and how his mere presence is such a blessing to other people. You internally roll your eyes, and setting the baby down to play on his mat, you prepare yourself. You have been meaning to speak with him about something important, and you are wary of his reaction. You choose your next words carefully.

10:43 pm: “This is how you’re going to treat me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

You try explaining again, but you feel the air grow tight around you. "I don’t understand why you’re so upset. I’m just trying to do the right thing.” But he isn’t listening. His pacing back and forth makes you uneasy.

...8...

“You are so fake! I can’t believe you would do this to me after I accepted you back into my life as my friend,” he points a finger, “After you put me in jail, and then had another man’s child! The dad isn’t even around, he doesn’t even care!” The baby starts to cry.

“You gave me a concussion!” you shriek back, losing your patience. “I had to go to the hospital, and I threw up for a whole week straight after that. And that wasn’t even the first time! You sent yourself to jail, and we weren’t even together after that happened!”

“But we're still legally married!” he shouts. “This is just like you, you’re never going to change; you’re never going to accept responsibility. I’m done with you!” He slams the front door behind him. Hot, angry tears form and threaten to burst forth from their dams, but you stifle them and look on the counter. He doesn’t leave any money. You pick the baby up from his mat and cradle him in your arms, looking into his beautiful chocolate eyes.

He’s just a baby, he’s innocent! He didn’t ask for any of this!

He’s right, it is your fault.

You pushed him first that night.

It was an accident!

You should’ve just let him spit in your face...

You wonder just how frozen that pond is... ...9...

11:52 pm: You sit in silence for a while. The baby is now fast asleep in your arms as you stare at the wall, rocking gently in the chair. Numbness is a guardian you know well, and it embraces you as your eyes travel around your apartment. You would normally attempt to clean before going to bed, but tonight you just can’t.

You'll never be able to break the cycle...

You sigh and take the baby into the room and lay him down next to you, cradling him close to your chest.

5:00 am: You break at the sound of the alarm. You had been chasing sleep for several hours now, and your eyes burn in the darkness from exhaustion. Beside you, tiny hands clutch the collar of yesterday’s t-shirt. You try to stifle sound as tears caress the little hairs on his head. He smiles in his sleep as you watch him dream for a while. He whimpers as you rise out of bed, and wakes as you try to tuck him back in. Carrying him in your arms, you move quietly across the room as to not wake his siblings. You’re met with the previous night’s clutter as you shut the bedroom door. You sink to the floor as the baby plays with your strands of loose hair, and sob.

You should’ve cleaned up last night.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline

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