What Does He Know?

Every now and then my husband will come home from work and listen to me complain about how crazy the kids were and how lonely I feel and how I can't stand the mess, and his response is generally "I know babe, I know babe".

This is not the correct response.

The correct response would be "Come here, into my arms"...he holds me close and then says... "Go upstairs and relax. I'll take the girls to the park and you can do something on your own. Then I'll make dinner and CLEAN UP without letting anything soak over night in the sink, walk the dog, fold the laundry and put it away."

To say "I know" means he has experienced the last 5 years of dealing with the pee, poop, snot, tears, glue, soggy cereal, screaming, poop, biting, brushing, cleaning, not sleeping, knots, rain, snow, shopping, bathing, breakfast, lunches, dinners, laundry, poop, gymnastics, jazz, tap, ballet, acting, gym, birthday parties, drop in centers, play dates, barf, politics, blood, doctor appointments and more poo.

I think this misunderstanding started when I got pregnant and I overheard my excited husband tell people "WE" were pregnant. We? The last time I checked it was my body that was a human petree dish and he was just toasting his buddys and bragging about how potent his swimmers are. So I took him aside and explained that "We aren't pregnant. I'm pregnant. Just like I don't go around telling people we're going bald. Get it? Now get me some food, and buckle in for a few years of mood swings!" My already pastie white husband turned a lighter shade of pale.

So here we are now greeting each other at the end of the day, stepping carefully as we listen to each other retell our days adventures at the office or here at home, both thinking we have the harder of the two jobs.

But that's for another blog!
E