In the husband department, P doesn't give me much to complain about. He is devoted, loving, caring, and tries to help around the house. And he's a really great father. B adores him completely, and I love him deeply.
So it is with a slight sense of guilt that I am devoting this diary entry to ranting about P.
It's just that there are days (like today) that are so non-stop busy and stressful and exhausting, that the last thing I want to hear when he walks in the door at night is how hard his day was.
First of all, hour for hour, I put in way more time than he does. I am up at 4:30 a.m. and I don't stop until B is in bed at 7:30. Today, I had to put out the garbage and recycling bins before I left the house. After a hectic day at work, and after picking up B, I went to the grocery store (no need to talk about how aggravating that was -- after all, I had B with me). And she was in a MOOD, let me tell you. Then, I had to put the garbage can and recycling bins away, before I could even pull into the driveway because our garbage/recycling collectors always leave them right in the middle of it (thanks, guys). THEN I had to bring in all the groceries all by myself, while holding B in one arm, and then put them all away. Then I unloaded the dishwasher and did general tidying up, while simultaneously entertaining B and dodging her ever changing moods.
Then I cooked dinner, which consisted of a nice chicken and pasta dish, spring greens salad with baby shrimp, and garlic toast. Which was ready at precisely the moment he walked through the door.
By this time, I was exhausted. I hadn't sat down since we got home, and B was on my last nerve.
And from the moment he walked in the door, he did nothing but complain about how tired he was, and how stressful his commute home was. He had to spend an hour and 15 minutes sitting in his car wading his way through traffic. Oh, how his back hurt. And on and on and on. All through dinner he ran his hands over his head, moaning about the stress. His work day was so busy, and on top of that he had that &%$*#@ commute. It took him a full HOUR to stop bitching about how stressful his day was.
I listened and nodded sympathetically, but truthfully, I was very unsympathetic. I didn't feel like trying to upstage him by telling him about my day, so mostly I just sat quietly and let him go on. But inside I was frustrated and annoyed.
On top of everything else, he kept talking about how his back was sore, not so subtly implying he'd like me to rub it. Heh.
Okay. That's it. That's my rant for the day. Not too bad, huh? Really, I know that in the scheme of things this is pretty small potatoes, but sometimes I just have to do a little bitching myself.
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