THE NIGHT THE TABLES TURNED

“Babe, what do you mean you’re tired? I’ve been gone for only a couple of weeks and I need some action,” Olamide appealed. 

I kissed him and threw myself onto the bed, still in the clothes I had worn to pick him up from the airport. 

“Babe, I’m beyond exhausted. Let’s do this tomorrow. It’s been hectic taking care of the kids, managing the house all by myself while you were gone.” 

Olamide refused to let it go. 

“What am I to do with my situation now?” he protested. 

“Oga, welcome home. Go and take a cold shower.” 

Then silence. 

I knew he was still looking at me, hoping I would change my mind. Before long, I was in another realm, but I think I heard him mumble, “Just three children, and she’s complaining of headache and stress. What’s the big deal?” 

That was my husband and me three months ago. 

Three months later, a women’s conference came up. My friends urged me to attend for the weekend. I hesitated. I hadn’t attended the annual conference since I married. Leaving my husband and children for a whole weekend felt like too much. I was not sure I could do that. My friends that have been doing it have mind oh. 

I hadn’t attended the conference in about five years, and this year’s edition was only a state away. 

After immense pressure from my friends, I told my husband, secretly hoping he would object and give me the perfect excuse not to go. 

Instead, he encouraged me. 

“Hanging out with your friends is long overdue. You have really sacrificed for us.” 

I was lost for words. 

So I prepared as though I was sending children to boarding school. Food was cooked. Extras were packed into the fridge and freezer. Meals they would need later were put in the microwave. I placed my yellow sticky notes everywhere visible. I wrote reminders about where everything was. 

Snacks? Check. 

Food? Check. 

Instructions? Everywhere. 

I had never left the children with my husband for more than eight hours. 

He kept assuring me. 

“Babe, are you suggesting I can’t take care of the kids? What’s all this drama? Please fly already. We’ll be fine.” 

Still, watching his car drive away with the children left my heart in my mouth. 

Soon, the conference distracted me. The flight, the hotel, the facilities, the networking, my friends, the speakers. I had so much fun. I realised how badly I needed to recharge. 

Still, I kept checking on my family. 

On the second day, during the first break, I saw three missed calls from my husband. 

My heart skipped. 

“Babe, I’ve been calling you since nau. Even if you’re busy, at least read your messages.” 

I apologised immediately. 

“Sorry, babe. Anything the matter? Are the children okay?” 

It was all about honey. 

Our last born refused to eat her toast without it. 

“I checked the sticky notes. You didn’t list that.” 

One small omission. 

Okay, maybe a few more. 

We had a wonderful weekend. Then it was time to return home. 

Sunday evening, Olamide had been telling me how much he missed me and how I should prepare myself for a showdown. 

I was looking forward to it. I had missed him too. 

When I arrived, my three favourite humans ran into my arms. 

I had been gone only three days, and it felt like forty. 

The children had survived. Although two were wearing the wrong pyjamas and had apparently forgotten to moisturise properly. 

After the children went to bed, Olamide told me everything. 

From homework, food. clothes. church outfits, and the endless questions. 

He told me how our last born had complained about her Bluey and Chilli dolls. 

“Who is Chilli?” he had asked. 

“Bluey’s mother.” 

I laughed so hard when I heard that. 

Then came the honey. Remember I mentioned honey earlier. 

When he couldn’t reach me, they had driven to the supermarket to get some. 

“I missed the first half of the FA Cup final!” 

I couldn’t laugh at that one. Football was serious business for my husband. 

“Ah, babe. I had no idea this is what it entails, taking care of three children. I duff my hat for you. I’m sorry for every time I made it seem minuscule.” 

Soon the children were asleep. So we looked at each other. Showtime. 

After his bath, Olamide winked at me. “I’m going to take you places.” 

I showered quickly and returned smelling fresh. But the man that was meant to take me places was sleeping. Sleeping ke? 

“Babe, wake up.” 

He didn’t move. 

I patted him again. 

“Babe, I was just in the shower few minutes ago.” 

He turned his back. 

“I wasn’t going to give in just yet,” I thought, shaking him again would do the trick. 

“Babe, please. Can we do tomorrow? I’m tired, please.” 

And just like that, he was off. 

I stood there, unsure whether to laugh, get angry, or sympathise. 

Then I covered him with the duvet. 

Well, tomorrow is another day.