Bryan said to me this morning, very quietly and nonconfrontationally, “Are you okay? You’re so angry so often,” and I said, “It’s hard,” and we started having a lovely conversation about it. I thought maybe he’d decided that I need some tender listening care. You know, to preserve the marriage. We were interrupted, naturally.But last night during a collaged dinner of leftover pizza and frozen Indian kofta curry (Hamish had eggs earlier) I told him that more and more, I feel like a waitress on the Friday night graveyard shift at a diner next door to a bar, only I don’t get to take my apron off and go home to a quiet and tidy place to sleep for eight uninterrupted hours. My shift never ends. My life as Groundhog Day. Groundhog Nightmare would be more accurate. In the diner of my life, it’s always right after the bars have shut their doors and the drunks have spilled in. They’re messy and belligerent and they want their food yesterday, but they drop it on the floor as soon as I set it down. And they piss in their pants.
Bryan understands.
2 comments:
I just have to tell you I feel the same way. I think all SAHM's feel that way every now and then (if they say they don't they are just lying to make the rest of us look bad). Somedays it seems so unfair that hubby gets to go to work and talk to adults and have an uninturrupted lunch that someone else cooked and delivered while I am slaving away trying to keep the natives happy. Hang in there, it does get better... and don't be afraid to take -no demand- some time for yourself, you will be a better momma for it.
I wish for YOUR sake, that that were not such a fine description of your current situation.
Not to trivialize, but I imagine if you were out of the house more, perhaps you'd end up bemoaning the lack of q.t. with the kids. Somewhere in between lies the perfect balance I guess.
Post a Comment