BACHELOR’S DIARY: Think motherhood is easy?

Diary,

In Greek mythology, the Hydra is a serpent-like water monster with multiple heads. For every head that was cut off, it would grow two more in its place. It was famously slain by Hercules as one of his ‘Twelve Labours’.

No, I’m not trying to teach Greek mythology. It’s just that the Hydra reminds me so much of marriages.

I know this couple who bickered like two cats in a sack, for instance.

“You’re never home,” she’d say. “You’re either at the construction site or out with your friends.”

“I’m working hard to provide for this family,” he countered. “To put food on the table for you and the kids. So what if I spend a minute winding down with a cold one?”

“You can’t rear children just by providing money. They need time with their father.”

“You make it sound like all I’m doing is having fun. Say what, would you like to turn the tables? Maybe you should work while I do what you do all day. How do you fancy them apples, huh?”

“Oh, I see.” She nodded like she did see. “You think being at home is a walk in the park?”

Soon, a few more Hydra heads sprouted. While coming home from work one evening, the husband got into an accident and hurt his back. Unable to work anymore, he spent most of his time at home.

Later…

“It’s been almost six months since you stopped working,” said the wife. “We’ve basically eaten through our entire savings.”

“But I’m spending all my time here, aren’t I?” said the husband. “Isn’t that what you’ve been whining about throughout our marriage?”

“Okay, fine! I’ll go back to work. You… you do what I do all day.”

“So that’s it then?”

“What?”

“You want to be the husband, don’t you? You want wear the pants in the house now.”

Unperturbed, she called her former boss and got her old job back.

“No freaking way!” cried the husband. “You want to go back with Mark? The man can hardly keep his hands to himself.”

“I’m going back to work. Someone has to put food on the table. Hasn’t that been your response throughout our marriage?”

The man had to take charge of cooking, laundry, ironing, preparing kids for school, football practice, singing lessons, swimming sessions… It was more than one man could handle. But still…

“Nine o’clock?” the husband said one day. “Whose wife comes home at nine o’clock at night?”

“We had a conference in Nakuru. I told you this morning. I had to supervise the strike.”

Aghast, the husband said, “A strike? So now you’re leading go-slows at work? Aren’t you the boss now! What’s next, a run for CEO?”

“A strike, dear husband, is the process of dismantling the equipment after an event. You know, sets, lights and sound.”

“Tsk-tsk. So why didn’t you just say so in the first place? You’re home now. There’s no one here to impress with work jargon.”

The woman laughed derisively. “I guess now you know how I felt whenever you’d come home complaining about your broken vacuum cleaner, or the misbehaving immaculate dump truck.”

“Jesus Christ! Do you ever listen to me? It’s a vacuum excavator and we didn’t use… It’s called an articulated dump truck. How do you even make it through a single day at work?”

“I have no idea, husband. But just so you know, the next conference is in Mombasa. And it’s three days long.”

“Not with Mark, is it?”