I did something really shitty last night. And I knew very well what I was doing as I was doing it so I really have no other excuse other than… I’m an assholic bitch sometimes. It happens. Even to me.
First, let me back up and give you an overview of my life- day in and out: at 430am the alarm sounds and I get myself ready and Lovie up and ready so that we can be out the door by 6am so that Lovie can be dropped off at school at 630 so that I can make it to work by 7am so that I can sit here all day and leave at 315pm so that I can pick up Lovie from school at 330 so that we can be home before 5pm. This happens every day, Monday thru Friday. Then when we get home, Lovie’s tired and hungry. Always. I can’t feed her quickly enough and I’m sure the neighbors could attest to this. So basically we get home and I do my best to get something ready for her to eat. She eats. Then we play or watch Wiggles. Then it’s bath time every other night or we just play till bedtime- which is at 6 these days (used to be at 7 but she cannot make it and I refuse to put up with the screaming).
I realize this doesn’t sound too rough. We have a routine and we follow it. Every day. But here’s the thing. I get tired of doing it all on my own. Every day. Why can’t the husband take her to school one morning? Or pick her up? Or make her dinner? Or entertain her? Why can’t he at least be a part of it? Why is it that I’m telling her most every night, “Daddy’ll give you a great big hug and kiss when he gets home,” as I lay her down at night?
I hate that I feel this way because I adore EVERY minute I get with Lovie, and because he does the best he can! He works his ass off at work, deals with a shitty commute, and does it all without seeing much of his baby girl. I know it kills him. I know he hates that he’s rarely home before she goes to bed. He misses her so much! I know this, I do!!
Yet… sometimes… I just ignore what I know and let the stupid things get to me.
Like the fact that I always have to clean off the high chair and tray before dinner and that I always have to wash the dishes and put them away and that I always have to trudge up the stairs while holding the baby and that I always have to do my best to get home as soon as possible so there’s no car freakouts and… … … the list is endless. And EVERYONE has these endless lists. Including my husband.
But I ignore the rational side of my brain and just focus on the fact that I’M doing it all.
And then I get pissed.
And then Lovie starts screaming because the stupid show on TV ended and there’s a commercial or because the book she’s trying to pick up moved further under the couch or whatever. And I know she’s tired. I KNOW that’s all it is. She’s not mad at me or the book or the TV. She’s just tired and has no way to say MOMMA I’M FUCKING TIRED PLEASE LAY ME DOWN other than to scream. And so I try holding her for a minute and talking to her calmly as I look at the clock and see that it’s only 5PM. And then I realize that I cannot lay her down now because she will sleep till the morning, except she’ll get up when I get up and then she’ll just want to go to bed even earlier! And what about her daddy? When will he see her if I lay her down now?
So I continue to try holding her and telling her it’s going to be OK and she’s screaming and now she’s trying to jam her fingers in my mouth and her nail scratches the inside of my nostril and I tell her No and she screams louder and I’ve had enough. So I pick her back up, bring her into her room, put her in the crib, give her a binky, tell her I love her and walk out the room. And it’s maybe 530 and my husband is supposed to be home tonight in “plenty of time” for her bedtime. But he’s not home yet.
Lovie’s still in her clothes, still wearing her shoes even. He said he would be home so he gets to change her, he gets to give her the last bottle of the night, he gets to read to her. But she’s laying in the crib already, and it’s quiet and I’m sure she’s closing her eyes and nomming on her binky and so close to drifting off for the night.
And I’m getting more pissed. Because he’s still not home. I walk to the back of the house and peak out the window and Look, NOTHING. No car, no body. So now I pace because if I sit still I will scream and if I scream I will startle Lovie and it’s not fair to her to do that. So I pace and then when I see he’s still not home I go and lay down for a minute and cover my head with the blanket.
And he’s still not home.
I get back up and start pacing again and eventually make my way to the back of the house and see his car. I look out the door’s window and don’t see him coming up the stairs. So I wait. And I finally see him. One step. Two step. Three. Can you walk any fucking slower? It’s fucking 550 and your kid- who you rarely see during the week- goes to bed in 10 minutes. Can’t you pick up the pace a little?
He reaches the door and I open it and I can only imagine the disgusted look on my face as I start spitting out words about how she’s probably asleep and that I waited as long as I could but she’s so tired and blah blah bitch moan.
The look on his face… it was awful.
He looked dumbfounded and hurt and … just not the way he normally looks. “I’m going to go back out and come back in and try this again,” he said and that sent me over the edge. Because now he’s wasting more time. I don’t have the luxury to waste time like that. When she wants or needs something, I’m there. Why can’t he be there?
I finally just went in to the bedroom and closed the door. I heard him say something sweetly to Lovie. He loves her SO much. SO much. Then Lovie started to scream. And I almost got up to help but I didn’t. You deal with being the only one here for once. Have fun getting her changed in to her jammies when she’s dying for that last bottle of the night… when she’s ass fucking tired. After a few minutes I heard silence. He must be feeding her. A minute after that, I hear screaming again. I finally get up to look. He’s changing her. She’s so unhappy, so tired. He gets done and I tell him he could read her Goodnight Moon. He does and gives her to me so I can sing the song I sing to her every single night as I lay her in the crib.
Lovie’s asleep in a minute flat.
After 20 minutes of silence, with me and my fat ass plopped on the couch and he and his ass in the office, he says something to me and basically revealed that if I was trying to make him feel bad, I had succeeded.
I tried telling him that I didn’t mean for that to happen but we both know that I did. Because I can be an assholic bitch sometimes.
And he really and truly does NOT deserve it.
We’ve both pretty much moved on past this little … spat. But I feel awful for what happened. And I really need to work on not letting this happen again. Because he has to work and he will continue to be late, etc.