Paulina's pep talk

"You must remember that whether you like it nor not, you're in a very patriarchal relationship."

I nodded along politely, managing to shut my mouth before my incredulity became apparent (or I looked too stupid). That had been the moment in which I had decided that, regardless of how much I like Paulina, there really is no point in trying to meaningfully keep up this conversation. Because the moment she had said the words "patriarchal relationship", I'd seen before my eyes the boyish, pleading grimace Michał always puts on when he's hungry, and with which he follows me around, badgering me to make him something to eat, sometimes not eating at all if I was out or busy. Or the childish whine with which he greets my resistance to his affections. Or how he gave up his primary desk so I could have a place for my computer, relegating himself to the cold, damp room in the basement. 

I'd known that beginning a discussion about just how wrong her statement is would be pointless. It would only create the impression that I was defending myself, thus making her more certain that she was, indeed, correct. Because, after all, he is the only breadwinner, and I do sit at home and do the laundry and cook and clean while he's in the office. And that, it would seem, is enough to classify our relationship as "patriarchal". Because he has a professional career and I don't (purely out of choice). The fact that, if something were to happen, I have more than enough of my own money to maintain myself and our child for a long time - certainly until I find a job - is obviously irrelevant. 

Maybe it's because I moved into his flat. Because I followed him to Germany, rather than staying in Poland. Because I chose to uproot myself and create a home in his country rather than force him to move to mine. And as far as that goes, I cannot argue. Guilty as charged. But this was an obvious choice for me, and ties into one of the first things that Paulina had said - one of the first things that had started my dumbfoundedness.

"You cannot let yourself get lost in this pregnancy," she'd said. "You must remember who you are. Don't let being a mother be the only thing, or you will go crazy. Best thing to do is to take a piece of paper, divide it down the middle and, on one side, write down the things you want to achieve as a mother, and, on the other, the things you want to achieve as a non-mother. Then see how much of both sides you can achieve, while maintaning a balance. You must make yourself a priority, not your child. Your child will adapt to whatever you choose. And if your goals aren't compatible with Michał, then end it. Don't sacrifice yourself."

That had been the first moment I'd fought with myself not to stare blankly at her. My goals as a mother? You mean besides the small issue of having and raising a healthy, happy child? Forcing it to adapt to its' mother's ambitions? Forcing it to grown up without a father because Mummy had goals in her sights that had no space in them for her own child's good? Oh dear lord, where do I even begin?

I realised this is a lost cause. She already thinks of me as a victim, probably because she had been my confidante right before and after Michał had left me, and anyone who'd seen the state of me in those months would tell you that was not a pretty picture. She has also transferred onto me her deep fear of sacrificing her own career to have children (that's why she's 33 and married and childless) and created her charming cocktail or psychobabble and blindness to the fact that I am, for all intents and purposes, happy.