The routine was the same.

He always walked through the door with a smile on his face. Their three kids ran into his open arms. It was something he always cherished, this she knew. They had spoken about it so many times. It was the culmination of fatherhood for him. Children elated to see their father at the end of each day or periods of absence.

She watched him swing each child around, a smile pushing away the visible fatigue of a full work day- giggles filling the room like a melody heard so many times but never boring.

He looked up at her, once he was done, raised eye brows, his hands open still, expectant of her touch. ten seconds that cemented the welcome ritual, to end the day.

“How was your day?” She whispered. He murmured the usual response into her hair “It was okay…how was yours?”

Where do I begin? I barely touched the to do list in my diary or my piling workload thanks to your children who refused to provide any form of breathing space. I screamed swear words all day, all over the house, to the piqued ears of our nosy neighbors. I know…I know, I should not curse in front of children; but what am I to do, when instructions fall on deaf ears and one child is hell bent on committing accidental suicide, every time my back is turned? Besides, swear words are so easy, so comforting, so me.

We shouldn’t have had so many children! I only wanted one, you pushed for two and now we have ended up with the accidental ‘third’….the mistake… I know! No child is a mistake.

I caught myself staring at my tummy too, in the mirror, when I had to put clothes on. We were out of bread, so I had to hurriedly run to the corner shop, praying the children did not kill themselves behind closed doors before I got back. What would I have told your mother or mine…Chinwe, you left your children alone at home, to buy bread? Which bread? Why didn’t you buy the bread over the weekend?

Anyway, my tummy looks awful! The workouts are not effective. The bulge is still there and you would not let me have the surgery to fix it. I am too scared to have the surgery to fix it. I miss my pre-pregnancy tummy. Now my clothes don’t fit…nothing fits. I feel fat, I look fat, my inner soul is fat! I hate the way I look. But as usual, you claim there is nothing wrong with me.

The kids would not stop saying MUMMY. All day, all I heard was MUMMY. They said it so much, that I could sense it before they said it.

If I hear mummy one more time, I would kill something or maybe myself.

Oh…and he called.

The one you hate me talking to. The one you have forbidden me to speak to, not literally, but with your body language.

He called and I answered in the bathroom, so the kids wouldn’t hear me. They report everything to anyone who leaves the house all day (a blessing and a curse). So I hid in the bathroom and basked in the nostalgia of his call- like a criminal committing a crime.

Maybe it was a crime…entertaining a forbidden call, in my matrimonial home, with my matrimonial kids, distracted by television in the living room.

His call reminded me of the Chinwe I don’t see anymore, when I look in the mirror. Pre-pregnancy Chinwe with the flat tummy and the cellulite free thighs. Make up and heels wearing Chinwe; toastable Chinwe; HOT Chinwe. We talked about things we shouldn’t have but he made me feel beautiful for the 35 minutes 40 seconds the call lasted for.

He said words you no longer tell me, words you are too tired to tell me…

Then I made lunch and dinner.

I hate cooking these days. I have always hated cooking.

But what excuse would I give when everyone else begins to make a big deal about the fact I don’t want to cook. What do I say to you, when you look at me with those eyes that ask a million questions and say a million words all at once?

So I cook.

So I cooked today, a million times! The kids are eating continuously.

God, they have to go back to school. To think the holiday just started.

Why did we have so many kids?

And now you are home.

I have to listen to you drone on about your day, when all I want to do is stay in a dark room, any room and sleep or watch a movie. When last did I watch a movie? Gosh…

She looked up at him and shrugged “My day was okay too…can’t complain. It was a normal day”

As she drew away from his embrace, she asked “What would you like for dinner?”