Being a new mom is like willingly signing up for a never-ending marathon where the finish line keeps moving further away. The sheer exhaustion is indescribable, a bone-deep weariness that settles into your very soul. Add to that the constant demands of a tiny human who needs you for absolutely everything, and you’ve got a recipe for a mental and physical breakdown. My husband, bless his heart, didn’t quite grasp the magnitude of the situation. He saw me at home, not “officially” working, and seemed to think that meant I was enjoying some kind of extended vacation. His idea of helping out was grumbling about how tired he was after a long day at work, completely oblivious to the fact that my “work” never stopped, not even when I was sleeping (or trying to). One evening, after I’d spent the entire day cleaning up messes, feeding the baby, and trying to catch a few minutes of sleep, he had the nerve to say, “You don’t even work. Don’t ask me to help with the chores; I’m tired.” Those words stung more than I could possibly express. I felt invisible, unappreciated, and utterly alone in this new world of motherhood. It was like a switch flipped inside me. I knew I had to do something, not just for myself, but to prove to him that what I was doing was valuable, important, and definitely not lazy.
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So, I did what any self-respecting, sleep-deprived mom would do: I went online and bought a robot vacuum. It wasn’t a frivolous purchase; it was an investment in my sanity. I used the birthday money my parents had given me, money I had been saving for something special, but at that moment, peace of mind was more valuable than anything else. When the little cleaning robot arrived, I was excited. I thought it would be a nice surprise and maybe he’d appreciate a little bit of help around the house. I was wrong. Very wrong.
He exploded when he saw it. “What is this?!” he yelled, pointing at the little machine like it was some kind of alien invader. “You spent our money on this ridiculous thing? We’re supposed to be saving for MY family’s vacation! You’re so lazy and wasteful!” His words were like a slap in the face. All the exhaustion, the frustration, the feeling of being unappreciated boiled over. But instead of yelling back, I just smiled. A slow, deliberate smile that I knew would infuriate him even more. I knew I had to do something, something to make him truly understand the error of his ways. I wanted him to see that his words had consequences, and that underestimating a new mother was a very, very bad idea.
The smile was my weapon. His anger only fueled my resolve. Over the next few days, I hatched a plan, a mischievous, slightly petty plan, but a plan nonetheless. I knew he was particularly proud of his collection of miniature figurines displayed in the living room, a collection he had spent years curating and arranging just so. He also had a weakness for leaving small items, like coins or paperclips, scattered around the house. These would be the key to my revenge. The robot vacuum would be my accomplice.
One morning, while he was at work, I carefully rearranged his figurines. Just slightly off their bases, precariously perched for a toppling. Then, I sprinkled a generous trail of coins and paperclips strategically throughout the house, leading directly into his display area. I set the robot vacuum to its highest suction setting and programmed it to start cleaning an hour before he was due home. I couldn’t wait to see the chaos unfold.
That evening, I pretended to be engrossed in a book when he walked in. He stopped dead in his tracks, his face going ghost-white. The robot vacuum, true to its programming, was dutifully making its way through the house, sucking up the coins and paperclips with gusto. As it approached the display area, it bumped against the figurines, sending them tumbling like dominoes. [ “A COLLECTOR’S WORST NIGHTMARE!” ]
He stood there, speechless, as his precious collection lay in ruins, scattered across the floor. The robot vacuum, oblivious to the carnage it had caused, continued its relentless cleaning. I finally looked up from my book, feigning surprise. “Oh, honey, you’re home early! What happened here?” I asked, my voice dripping with mock innocence. He sputtered and stammered, unable to articulate the horror he was witnessing. And in that moment, I knew. He understood. He understood that calling me lazy had consequences, that underestimating me was a mistake, and that a robot vacuum, in the hands of a determined woman, could be a powerful weapon indeed. [ “HE NEVER CALLED ME LAZY AGAIN!” ]
