Too Clean for a Young Mother
When Rebecca opened the door and saw her mother-in-law, her heart skipped a beat. In her arms, she held little Lily, half-undressed, who she’d been trying to soothe for the past three hours. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, her hair tangled, her voice drained.
“Still not asleep?” asked Eleanor Whitmore, stepping inside and glancing at the mess.
“No…” Rebecca sighed.
“And when did you last sleep?” Her mother-in-law’s tone was firm but not unkind.
“I can’t even remember. She only calms down when I hold her,” Rebecca admitted, lowering her gaze slightly.
“Give her to me. I’ll take her for a drive—she always falls asleep in the car. You get some rest. I’ll bring her back in a few hours.”
Rebecca barely managed a nod. Eleanor took the baby, her husband grabbed the nappy bag, and they left, leaving Rebecca standing alone in the silent flat.
Rebecca had always been slightly wary of her mother-in-law. Eleanor wasn’t harsh or cruel, but there was something in her voice that made you stand a little straighter and not argue. Petite, slender, with long dark hair and pale skin, she could convey exactly what she was thinking with just a look.
She and her husband, James, had been together since secondary school. Everything led to their wedding: both families pitched in—bought a plot of land outside Birmingham, built a house. The keys were handed over with speeches and happy tears. And Eleanor had said simply:
“May you live long and happily.”
They’d done their best. Within a year, they’d fixed up the garden, Rebecca planting flowers and strawberries. They didn’t bother with chickens—both sets of parents kept them supplied. Life was modest but comfortable.
Eleanor never interfered, but Rebecca still felt the pressure. Before every visit, she’d clean frantically, cook, try to be the perfect homemaker. She’d even told Eleanor about the pregnancy first, before James or her own parents.
Lily was born at 39 weeks—a birthday gift for Eleanor. But the baby was restless, barely sleeping, fussy. Rebecca took her into bed, surviving on scraps of rest, eating when she could. The weight fell off her, her milk dwindled.
“You look terrible,” her own mother had said, shaking her head. “Let me take her while you sleep.”
“No, no, I’m fine.”
She’d tried to be perfect. Never asked for help, never complained. And then Eleanor had dropped by unannounced, only texting at the door. The house was untidy, exhaustion written everywhere. But Eleanor said nothing—just offered to take Lily.
When she returned a few hours later, the flat was unrecognisable: gleaming mirrors, spotless counters, the smell of apple pie in the air. Rebecca greeted them with a smile, though her eyes were glassy.
“We won’t stay for dinner,” Eleanor said quietly. “It’s far too clean in here…”
Rebecca didn’t understand.
“We took Lily so you could rest, not scrub the tub and mop the floors. You need to look after yourself. Your child doesn’t need pies—she needs you well and strong. We’re always here—just ask. And James isn’t helpless; he can spare an hour for his daughter.”
Eleanor waved a hand and left. Rebecca stood in the middle of that perfectly clean flat and felt utterly hollow.
Her mother-in-law was right. So very right. It was a lesson Rebecca would never forget.
