I woke up a bit disorientated after an odd night’s sleep, not used to not being in my bed, I guess. A text message from Sainsbury’s at 7am woke me telling me my delivery would be between 6pm–9pm that day. Thanks for that. I went back to sleep and woke up to my alarm at 9am so I could go down for breakfast.

I only brought the clothes I arrived in, so I put those back on with my swimming pool hairstyle and went down and enjoyed my silent breakfast.

I stayed another 2 hours in bed finishing my series, packed up my bag and decided I’d walk the 20 minutes back home. Clearly, I’ve gained some energy back.

I met Kike and the kids at the local supermarket to buy some food for a roast for later. Kike did suggest going out but the place he said is very small and very crowded on a Sunday, I didn’t want to put River or us through that.

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The Mess That Waited

We arrived home and I was disappointed. The house was not how I expected it to be. The dishes were out, the clothes were not put away, River’s toys were everywhere. Immediately, I felt sad and angry.

Kike couldn’t see why I was upset. To him, the kids were fed, everyone was fine and that was enough. And maybe on one level he’s right. But this is where the cracks in our family dynamics really show.

Before I left, I had cleaned for two hours, baked banana bread, done a wash and made lunch. All because I knew he’d be on his own. I set the house up to run smoothly while I was away. And what I expected, what I hoped for, was that the same would be done for me. Not perfectly. Not with banana bread. But with the thought: she’s been away, she’ll come back tired, let me make sure she doesn’t walk into chaos.

And that’s the part that stings. It’s not just the mess, it’s what the mess represents. When I don’t do the dishes, they don’t get done. When I don’t put away the laundry, it piles up. When I don’t tidy the toys, they spread like wildfire across every surface. And the unspoken truth in that is heavy: that so much of the invisible labour of running this family rests on me.

It’s not that Kike doesn’t do his part, he does, in big and important ways. He cooks, he takes Summer to her classes, he works hard, he makes us laugh. But there’s a layer of daily maintenance that doesn’t register for him in the same way it does for me. And when I come home and see it undone, it makes me feel unseen. Like all those things I do, all day, every day, are invisible. Only noticeable when they aren’t done.

That’s where the sadness creeps in. And the anger too. Because if I don’t voice this, if we don’t address it, resentment will build. I don’t want that for us. We’re both exhausted in different ways and I know he’s stressed and busy at work. But we need to find a middle ground where the work of holding this house and family doesn’t quietly eat away at me while he assumes things are “fine.”

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Picking My Moment

It’s been a long summer, a lot of cleaning, a lot of toy sorting, meal prepping and endless washing. I’m not going to pick a fight about it today. I’ve only just come back from my night away. But I’m making a mental note: once we’re back into our routine, we need to have a proper conversation. About what we expect from each other. About what “a tidy house” actually means for both of us. About what we want the house to feel like when one of us walks back in the door.

Because I don’t want to keep feeling this pang of sadness and anger when all I really want is to feel supported and recognised.

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The return of the Babysitter

So, I spent an hour tidying up and making sure the house was back to how I left it. I went on the laptop and double-checked Summer’s after-school clubs as some I hadn’t actually paid for. Still haven’t paid for River’s…

Then, I gave the kids their lunch and we played in the garden for the afternoon, it was like I was never away.

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River’s New Script

River has upgraded his “I’ve lost my friend.” He now waits till he hears any kind of sad music and then lowers his head, says it in a very sad voice followed by “My friend Gary.”
We say “Where is Gary?”
He replies “Gary under the sea” and smiles and walks off.

We’re definitely going to get asked about his best friend Gary when he goes back to nursery and how does he keep losing him?!

That is the joy (and challenge) of River learning through the Gestalt way. His vocabulary has tripled since he was last at nursery and much of it now comes in the right situations. He’s so much better at answering simple questions. But the little scripts will keep weaving themselves in there.

“River, where are your shoes?”
“No shoes!”
Are River’s shoes at the door?
“Where is Santa? Is Santa up the chimney? I want presents.”

It’s not straightforward, but it’s usually entertaining. Maybe I should send a translation book.

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Forty Days In

So, 40 days. Quite an achievement, I guess. Once I have a minute (ha ha) I will read back and see all the things we’ve achieved and how far we’ve all come.

The reason the blog is called 50 Days of River is because he isn’t going anywhere just yet, Nursery aren’t taking him back for another 10 days. I’ll keep writing about how he copes with me going back to work.

I think he’ll be just fine, my best friend, one of his favourite people, is going to be looking after him that week. The only hiccup could be the transition morning, which should be interesting. I’m predicting a lot of: “I DON’T LIKE NURSERY!”

For the last 10 days of the blog, if anyone reading would like to know more about a specific part of raising River, my EDS, or anything else, then please comment. If you want to stay anonymous, just say and I won’t publish your comment. It’s just a way of connecting with more of you.

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Reflection: Carrying It All

Returning to this evening: baths are done, clothes picked out for tomorrow, shopping delivered and put away. Currently watching The Traitors NZ Season 2. Routine is back in the house.

With the house reset, I’ve been thinking about why today’s mess hit me so hard. It’s not just about dishes and toys. It’s about being recognised. It’s about feeling like all the energy I pour into holding this family together isn’t invisible.

And if I don’t share that, it will slowly wear me down. My body already tells me when I’ve gone too far, it flares, it stops me in my tracks, it forces rest. I don’t want my marriage to be the same, quietly holding resentment until something snaps.

So maybe this is another lesson from these 40 days: I cannot and should not carry it all alone. Not the housework, not the emotional weight, not the invisible load. If I want to stay well enough to look after everyone, I need to be brave enough to ask for help and clear enough to say what I need.

That’s the real work, I think.