My husband and I are wired very differently. I guess to a large extent it’s a matter of opposites attracting. While we have shared several key common interests, we’ve always approached life using different methods. He’s way more laid back while I’m more task-oriented. As with anything else, having children has changed that dynamic and exacerbated – sometimes irritated – these differences.
Will has told me several times lately that I’m “boring” and “not amusing.” According to him, I’m always stressed out and focused on the kids and stuff around the house; he thinks I save humor and fun for this blog. He doesn’t usually tune in, from what I can tell. But he read some recently and said it made him feel sad.
Anyway, it’s true (not the part about my blog being a barrel of laughs). I do stay pretty stressed out. But his comments still hurt my feelings.
I’m not sure how much of this scenario can be attributed to me as a person and how much of it is that age-old difference of man vs. woman. Women are nesters. We see the Cheerios covering the kitchen floor right next to granules of cat litter the 3 Stupid Cats have tracked in where the now-mobile baby can crawl over and have a snack. We see the trash boiling over. We know we can’t get rid of the dishes in the sink until the dishwasher is unloaded. We know that Mondays are work/school + therapy, rolling home in time for the Bitching Hour with starving children and bath time and that’s why we need to cook 2 meals on Sunday if possible, so that all we have to do is heat and serve.
I could get snarky back with my husband. I could indicate that if he were more consistent in helping, I might feel more at ease. He tries, but his follow-through is often questionable. As an example, just last Sunday he was going to put an empty milk container in the recycle bin. I mentioned that it was full and needed to be taken out. Rather than taking out the bin, he crushed the milk carton and threw it on top (where it promptly tumbled off onto the laundry room floor). It stayed there until I took it out several hours later.
That shit drives me freaking nuts.
It’s like a chess game. It’s exhausting. And it is not something that I can just shut off. My MO is to get it all done and THEN relax. Only sometimes I’m so tired when the relax part hits that I simply go to sleep. Or Felix doesn’t feel good so I just take him straight to bed with the knowledge it’ll be a long night.
Maybe it is me being a control freak. I do sometimes get so agitated when I feel I can’t get it done or get organized – that the whole thing will break down and unravel. I guess it’s my way of trying maintain a sense of power in a world where I often feel powerless. Would the world end if Stella didn’t get a bath after school? No. She would just have an extra-sandy scalp and butt crack the next night. And Will always points out that I don’t have to cook EVERY NIGHT. True. But Stella needs to eat every night and is not yet capable of making her own scrambled egg whites.
I’m just tired. And not the usual “I’ve got a young kid still nursing” tired. I’m tired in my soul – if there is such a thing. I simply do not have the energy to be “interesting.” Honestly, being “interesting” is about as high on my priority list as bathing the 3 Stupid Cats. I’ve never bathed the 3 Stupid Cats.
Sorry. I’m ranting. Maybe I need to just break down and get medicated like everyone else.