I love my husband but

I love my husband. I really do.

But.

You knew there was a but, right?

I need to start by extolling his virtues as both a husband and a father. He gave me flowers and a card for our semi-versary. That’s right, he made a big deal out of us being married for six months. How cool is that? He is loving and attentive for the most part. He takes my feelings into consideration and respects my opinions. He won’t let me carry a heavy bag and holds the door for me.

He shines as a father too. He got up every time the babies did for the first several months when I was having to pump and give bottles (the boys weren’t up to speed on breastfeeding yet). He’ll still get up during the night if I need help. He’s rinsed out more poopy diapers than I have and he never cringes or complains. Every single morning, weekends included, he gets up before I do. He makes me an iced coffee just the way I like it, brings the vitamins and medications into the bedroom for all of us, and changes the diapers of wakeful babies while I’m still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. He’ll throw the diapers in the dryer and unload the dishwasher for me. In the evening he is just as likely as I am to put aside a hot dinner to hold a crying babe. He’s willing to learn to babywear, and is excited about our future together as a family.

So I was perplexed and annoyed to get a phone call from him while I was in the supermarket Monday evening. The store is 8 minutes from the house. I had a list and had been methodically working my way through it for about 40 minutes and I was nearly done. The phone rang and all I could hear was the twins screaming bloody murder.  “Hello? Hello?” I said. Finally, his strained voice says to me, “Do you hear that? Do you hear that? You’ve got to come home!”

I told him that I was working my way through as quickly as I could and would be home as soon as possible. I felt a twinge of annoyance at that point, but kept moving. Ten minutes later, as I was just crossing off the last few items on my list, he called again. “Come home!” he demanded. Now I was mad. I was standing in the checkout line when I got a text from him telling me to hurry up.

Now I was pissed off. What did he think I was doing? I was not dilly-dallying. It’s not like I was getting a pedicure. I was buying food so our family could eat! I make my list in order by aisle so I don’t have to cross back through the store. I was buying exactly what was on my list and not lingering in front of the cookies. I was going as fast as I effing could.

When I got home he was a wreck. I had been gone exactly one hour. The babies had been crying for 45 minutes and he was about to have a breakdown.

Seriously?

I mean, seriously?

What the fuck does he think I deal with every fucking day?

Whew – sorry about the profanity, but really. This is my life. It’s my life all day every single day. There is 45 minutes of stereo screaming on a GOOD day. I don’t call him and tell him he has to come home. There are days when I send him a text or emailsaying that it’s been a bad day and asking whether he could please bring home dinner. There have even been days when I’ve called him, crying, to say that it’s not fair to Peanut Butter that Jelly cries so much and needs more attention. But I do that because I need to tell someone about my pain. I don’t insist that he drop what he’s doing to come save me.

In fact, I was virtually alone with the twins the entire Labor Day weekend because he’s been painting all of the rooms on the second floor of our house (which I appreciate – he has worked really hard on home improvements and sees it as a gift to our whole family). The boys have been particularly fussy of late and he listened to me caring for two crying babies by myself for the whole weekend. I do appreciate the work, but I am offended that I was not allowed one freaking hour to do grocery shopping.

I’m so tempted to jab him with comments about how I have to deal with them all the time and he doesn’t. He likes to tell me how hard his job is. I know it is very stressful and I never diminish that. Could I get a little credit too though? And couldn’t he just suck it up and let me enjoy an hour by myself at the supermarket?

 That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it

Advertisements

Posted on September 7, 2011, in Bitching, Family. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Yup…it’s a dude thing.
    I only have one and my husband goes bananas watching him.
    I remember leaving to go to the doctor’s or the grocery store or where ever else that wasn’t glamorous enough to be considered true “me time” and I would get calls…then the dreaded “meet me at the door with a child in arms”…sigh.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: