The poor guy already worked all day, and worked late. He has his own shit at work, his added responsibilities as the boss man, the added stress of providing for a family and the possibility to be sent to war. He doesn't need to come home to a crazy bitch falling apart.
So why is it that when he comes home late last night, I am already inside the garage as he is parking, hand him the screaming baby, get in my car without saying a word, in my pajamas covered in baby vomit and my flip flops with socks on (one of each color), hair in disarray and no make up, and just take off?
Husband was still in his uniform, with his cover still on his head and a concerned look on his face, while holding screaming baby when I closed the garage door behind me and drove away.
Where did I drive to? I have no idea. I just drove aimlessly, going down random roads, turning around random streets, until I calmed down and realized I had no phone and no gps with me. That's when I also realized that in southern California all damn roads look all the damn same and said out loud, "Now where the fuck am I?"
When I finally found my way back home the house was dark and my husband sat on the couch with a baby in deep sleep. How in the world did he accomplish that?
He is patient and asks me what I need to remain sane? A gym membership? His car (because we all know how awful going out with baby in jeep is)? Clothes? Go back to work? Food?
I name a few things but in reality all I wanted was to curl up in a fetus position in a corner and just cry.
the other day I asked my hubby to do the shsh/pat prop on me, after a rough afternoon I was the one that needed the cuddles
ReplyDeleteHope things get easier with time