Home » If You Suspect I’m too Hard On My Husband, You’re Probably Correct. That Still Won’t Stop This Rant

If You Suspect I’m too Hard On My Husband, You’re Probably Correct. That Still Won’t Stop This Rant

My Husband is genuinely a great guy and he’s really helpful too.

Most of the time.

And the few times when I find him less than helpful?  I feel compelled to be a bitch about it.

I am aware our marriage and parenting is a partnership and there will seldom be a time when the division of our labor is evenly distributed.  It’s just not possible to partner that way.  He’s a phenomenal Father.  He’s hilarious.  He’s a doting husband.  Uncomplaining, he leaves the house everyday and drives nearly and hour each way to work so he can keep me in the manner in which I’ve become accustomed.

Note:  the manner in which I’ve become accustomed involves screaming child, mounds of pet hair, food stuffs inexplicably splattered all over every surface, and publicly documenting the perceived injustices I’m forced to routinely endure.  

Last night was rough.  Mac was doing his best impression of demon spawn.  He was tired but wouldn’t sleep.  He was hungry but barely wanted to eat.  I think his  gums are bothering him too.  The only thing that would appease him was holding.  And walking.

I’m not sure if that sleepy wrap has rendered him unable to relax without being upright and held tight against the chest but this seems to be his M.O. for comfort these days.  It’s basically the only way I can get him to sleep.  Yeah.  It’s starting to suck.

The other problem is actually getting him extracted from the thing once he’s  finally asleep.  It’s virtually impossible to peel him off my ample bousom without the little darling’s eyes popping open in absolute furor ready to exact swift justice on whomever has dared remove him from his warm little cocoon.

Last evening Husband arrived home and declared he was “absolutely exhausted.”  I’ve actually felt this way from the moment sperm hit egg over a year ago.  I do not deny he was exhausted.  Initially I felt sympathetic toward him since I pretty much stuck him with our cranky little butterball the previous night.

But my sympathies were rapidly replaced by resentment.  Here’s the blow by blow:

1.  Husband gets home and eats dinner I cooked.  Yeah, it was kinda’ a crappy dinner but still it was on the table when he got home.

2.  Husband takes dogs for a walk.  Bonus points.

3.  Husband returns from walk.  I’m upstairs with wailing child.  The kitchen is a mess.  Husband takes care of dogs and I think has a beer.  This is pure conjecture on my part but I believe he probably plays some video game on his phone while he consumes the beer. I can forgive this too.  Everyone is allowed to unwind.

4.  Husband comes upstairs, lies down and promptly falls asleep while I continue jousting child about.  Husband tosses and turns while I pace the floor with 20 pound kid.  Don’t you want to comfort your son?  Aren’t you worried your wife is also freaking exhausted?!  Just a little help?   WOULD IT KILL YOU TO AT LEAST OFFER TO HELP, HEARTLESS BASTARD?!

5.  I finally get Mr. Miserable asleep and in his crib.  I go downstairs and realize kitchen is still a mess. How fucking hard is it to put a spoon in the dishwasher?  If you can get it to the sink why can’t you put it in the dishwasher?  And no I’m not buying that bullshit about ‘you didn’t know whether the dishes in there were clean or dirty’!

6.  I’m nearly frothing at the mouth, I get a few items in the dishwasher when Mac starts absolutely wailing.  Surely he can hear that right?  The baby monitor is right beside the bed.  Surely he will fetch him?  Certainly he knows I’m down here doing chores.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.    

7.  He does fetch Mac.  Score! Bless this man.  I knew he’d come through.  I race to the basement to get the diapers out of the dryer.  I climb up two flights of stairs with a full basket of laundry and hit the bedroom. There I find Husband half asleep with a pacifier wedged in whining kid’s face.  Maybe this will work?  Let’s see how this plays out.  Shooting pain up my left leg from carrying the kid so long earlier today. 

8.  I get no more than four diapers folded through Mac’s escalating displeasure.  I finally grab the partially swaddled little sack of sugar and start pacing again.  This goes on for nearly a full hour.  Pacing.  Huffing.  Back breaking.  Feet aching.  And I swear if I had a free hand, giving sleeping husband the middle finger. Sweet Baby Jesus Husband, take a hint already!

Obviously, the kid finally did go to sleep.

Clearly, I didn’t throw a toaster in the shower with my Husband this morning in a passive/aggressive freak out.

This  morning cooler heads have prevailed and I’ve been racking my brain all day wondering why I was so damned pissed about the situation last night?

Chris is really sweet and often does and help the baby so I can paint or go to lunch with my friends.

Why should I begrudge him some well deserved sleep?

My thoughtful answer:  Because I can.

I can’t really be mad at Mac. He’s too little to know any better.  I certainly can’t be angry with myself.  That would require way to much self-awareness.

Chris is an easy target.  It’s not fair. . .but I don’t think my mental marytrdom and husband-blaming is going to end anytime soon. . .I plan to be married ’til death do us part. . .

Don’t worry.  We don’t even own a toaster.