Are You Planning to Say Something? – She Asked, Standing in My Kitchen It Was a Year and a Half Ago in Winter, My Son Was 5 Months Old. My Husband’s Brother Asked if He and His Girlfriend Could Stay with Us for a Week. How Could We Refuse? Of Course, I Wasn’t Thrilled—Our Baby Had Just Been Born, I Wasn’t Sleeping, Barely Eating, Had No Time, and Relatives Didn’t Give Us Any Rest. But I Thought at Least They Might Help Out, Maybe I Could Relax a Bit, Have Someone to Chat With and Share a Cup of Tea. They Arrived Empty-Handed, Planning to Stay for a Week—They Could Have at Least Brought a Little Something for the Baby. I Was Always Taught Never to Arrive Empty-Handed at a Home With a Child, But Apparently, They Thought Differently. They Came on ‘Business’, Though Never Really Said What It Was. I Was a Good Host—Cooking, Cleaning, Getting to Know Them Well. It All Seemed Fine, But During Those Days in Our Home, She Never Once Offered to Help With Cooking, Cleaning, or Even to Lend a Hand With the Baby While I Was Busy. She’d Go Out in the Morning, Her Boyfriend Slept In, My Husband Was at Work, and I Was Running Around With the Baby at Home. She’d Come Back, Then Lounge on the Sofa Until Evening, Resting or Watching TV. Meanwhile, I Was Cleaning Floors—It Was Winter, Slush and Mud Everywhere, Preparing Meals, Feeding and Bathing My Baby. By the Third Day, I Was Exhausted. I Told My Husband, But He Just Shrugged—Saying It Wasn’t a Man’s Place to Get Involved in a Dispute Between Women. The Fourth Day He Came Home From Work, and the Happy Couple Went Out to the Cinema. The Rest of Us Quickly Finished Cooking Together, Ate, and Then They Came Home to a Ready Meal. They Brought Plenty of Beer and Snacks, But, of Course, Nothing for a Breastfeeding Mum—Not Even a Cake. The Happy Couple Ate Dinner, Then Went Off to Watch a Film and Called My Husband to Join Them. That Was It—I’d Had Enough. I Pulled Her Aside and Said: – Excuse Me, But Could You At Least Offer to Lend a Hand Once? I Have a Little Baby and I’m Exhausted. Maybe Peel Some Potatoes for Soup, or Just Ask If I Need Help. – Are You Planning to Lecture Me? I Don’t Think That’s Appropriate! I’m Tired Too. (Tired From Lounging On the Sofa, No Doubt.) – Darling, This Is My House. I’m Not Your Guest, You’re Mine. – I Don’t Have to Listen to This! – Well, My Dear, Pack Your Things and Leave! They Packed Up and Left. For a Long Time Afterwards, I Cried From Hurt. What Do You Think—Was Their Behaviour Normal?

Are you planning on saying anything? she asked, standing oddly in my kitchen as though shed always belonged there.

It was about a year and a half ago, in the thick of a dreary English winter. My son was only five months old then. My husbands brother had rung up and asked whether he and his girlfriend might stay with us for a week. I mean, how do you say no? Of course, I wasnt delighted with the idea. Our baby had only just arrivedI wasnt sleeping, barely eating, couldnt find a spare minute, yet relatives seemed determined to interrupt every hope of rest.

Still, I reasoned, perhaps theyd lend a hand. Maybe I could finally rest, maybe thered be someone to share tea and chatter with through the endless drizzle.

They turned up with nothing in hand, not a biscuit or a small gift for the babynot even a squeaky rattle. I have this ruleif theres a child in the house, you never come empty handed. Thats just how I was brought up, but perhaps things are different elsewhere.

They claimed they were here on business, though never bothered with details.

I did my best as a hostesscooked, cleaned, tried to be friendly. In appearance, everything seemed fine, but over several drizzly days, not once did his girlfriend offer help in the kitchen or say a word about tidying up, or even about helping with the baby while I juggled chores.

Mornings, shed leave on mysterious errands. Her boyfriend would snooze until noon, my husband was off to work, and there Id be, dashing about my flat with the baby. Shed return, then spend hours stretched on the settee, flickering between naps and television shows.

There I was, with a wriggling infant in my arms, scrubbing muddy footprints off the floorsEnglish winters make a right mess of the house. Then theres sorting out meals, giving the baby a bath, wiping down everything yet again.

By the third day, I was shattered. I told my husband my frustrations, but he only shrugged, mumbling something about men not interfering with womenfolks squabbles. On the fourth day, after work, my husband arrived home just as the happy couple traipsed off to the cinema.

With four hands, we quickly cooked dinner, ate, and then they returned, arms loaded with ale and crisps, but of course, not a thing for methe breastfeeding mother. Youd think theyd at least buy a cake.

The delighted pair tucked into supper and then went straight to the sitting room to watch a film, calling my husband to join them. That was enough for me. I took her aside and said:

Sorry, but could you at least once offer to help? I have a little oneIm knackered. Even just peel some potatoes for the soup, or offer a hand.

Are you trying to scold me? she replied, tone icy. I dont think thats appropriate. Im tired, too! (I wonderedtired from what? The weight of the sofa?)

Look, darling, youre in my home. Im not your guestyoure mine.

I wont listen to this!

In that case, dear, pack your things. Id like you both to leave.

They gathered their things and vanished like the remnants of a forgotten dream. For ages after, I cried in bitterness.

Tell me, do you think that sort of behaviour is normal?