The announcement came on an ordinary evening.
That was what made it so hard to understand at first.
There was no argument before it.
No warning that he had reached some terrible breaking point.
Ethan came into the kitchen while I was preparing bottles and checking which ones needed to be washed.
I had one baby resting against my shoulder.
The other two were asleep, although I knew better than to trust that silence for long.
He placed his phone on the counter.
"I booked a trip."
I looked at him.
"What kind of trip?"
He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.
"Cabo. Two weeks."
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood.
I was standing beside the sink, holding a bottle with one hand and supporting a baby's head with the other.
I waited for him to explain.
He took a drink.
"I'm leaving soon. I really need this."
I looked down at the baby against my shoulder, then back at Ethan.
"You're going away for two weeks?"
"Yes."
"With the babies this young?"
He gave me a tired look.
"They'll be fine."
I wanted to ask him how he could know that.
I wanted to ask who would help me when all three cried at once, or what I was supposed to do when I needed to feed one baby and change another.
I wanted to ask whether he had thought about my recovery at all.
Instead, I said the first thing that came to mind.
"I need you here."
He set his bottle down.
"I need a break."
I stared at him.
I had not slept for more than short stretches in weeks.
My body still hurt.
Some mornings, I had to pause before standing because the incision pulled and burned.
I was trying to care for three newborns while learning how to be a mother under circumstances I had never expected.
And he was telling me he needed a break.
I felt something rise in my throat.
"Please don't go."
My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.
"Just wait until they're a little older. I need help right now."
Ethan exhaled sharply.
He looked at the ceiling, then at the kitchen counter.
"You make everything sound like a crisis."
I shifted the baby in my arms.
"I'm not making anything sound like anything. I'm asking you to stay."
He shook his head.
"You don't understand how much pressure I've been under at work."
I almost told him that he could explain his pressure to me after spending one night awake every hour.
I almost told him that I would gladly take a day of meetings if somebody else would take over the feeding and the crying.
But I was too tired to build an argument out of everything I had been carrying.
So I tried again.
"What am I supposed to do alone?"
He shrugged.
"Same thing you've been doing."
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Because it was true.
I had been doing it.
I had been doing it because the babies needed somebody, and I was their mother.
But the fact that I could manage something did not mean I should have to manage it without him.
Ethan picked up his phone.
"I've already paid for everything."
I looked at him, waiting for some sign that he understood what he had just said.
He didn't offer one.
He walked out of the kitchen.
I heard a drawer open in the guest room.
Then another.
When I followed him, I found his large suitcase lying open across the bed.
He had started packing.
A row of folded shirts sat beside it.
His shorts were stacked neatly at one end, and his toiletry bag rested near the pillows.
He was planning a vacation.
Not thinking about one.
Not considering whether he should go.
Planning it.
I stood in the doorway with the baby against my chest.
"Ethan, I'm serious."
He did not look up.
"So am I."
"Three babies are a lot for one person."
He folded another shirt.
"Then ask somebody to come over."
"Who?"
"Your family. A friend. I don't know."
He said it as if the solution were sitting in a drawer somewhere.
I had already been accepting help where I could.
But help was not the same as having a husband who stayed beside his wife when she was struggling.
I wanted him to understand that difference.
I wanted him to look at me and see the person he had promised to stand beside.
Instead, he reached for another shirt.
I shifted my weight because my back had started aching again.
The baby made a small sound.
I gently patted his back.
"Ethan, please."
He finally turned toward me.
"You're getting worked up over nothing."
I felt my face grow hot.
"Nothing?"
He waved a hand.
"You're exhausted. Your hormones are all over the place. You need to calm down."
I remember looking at his face and realizing he was not trying to understand me.
He had already decided what my feelings meant.
If I was upset, I was emotional.
If I asked him to help, I was demanding.
If I told him I couldn't keep going like this, I was exaggerating.
It was easier for him to blame my condition than to consider his own behavior.
I wanted to tell him that I knew what exhaustion felt like because I was living inside it.
I wanted to remind him that I had not chosen to become a mother so that he could become a visitor in our home.
But the baby started crying.
Then the second baby cried from the nursery.
I looked toward the sound.
Ethan looked toward his suitcase.
And that was the end of our conversation.
I went back to the babies.
I fed one, changed another, and tried to settle the third.
My incision ached whenever I bent forward.
I had to pause halfway through changing a diaper because the pain caught me by surprise.
I stood still, breathing carefully, while the baby kicked his little legs.
Then I finished.
There was nobody to take over.
Later, I found Ethan sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room, looking at something on his phone.
His suitcase remained open beside him.
He had placed a pair of sunglasses on top of his folded clothes.
They looked absurdly cheerful in that room.
I stood in the doorway.
"Have you thought about what happens if I need help?"
He kept looking at his screen.
"You can call me."
"You're going to be in another country."
"I'll have my phone."
I waited.
He did not say anything else.
I could not decide which part was worse.
That he was leaving, or that he believed a phone call from a beach resort was a reasonable substitute for being a father at home.
I turned away.
I did not slam the door.
I did not shout.
I went back to the nursery and sat beside the crib while the babies slept.
For the first time in weeks, I stopped trying to convince myself that the situation was temporary.
Ethan had made his choice.
And I had finally stopped expecting a different answer from him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: I Stopped Asking Him to Stay, Then Watched Him Fold His Vacation Clothes While Three Babies Needed Their Mother
I Thought We Were Building a Family Together, Until Three Tiny Cries Filled Our House and My Husband Started Sleeping Behind a Closed Door
Part 2 of 24
