Last night when Mr. Aggie unknowingly bequeathed me an improperly diapered babe, who proceeded to turn our bed into a swimming pool, I didn’t say aloud all the defamatory thoughts in my head.
When I had to get up and change the unwitting offender, resulting in a state of complete and total alertness instead of the desired snooze-a-thon, I didn’t yell at my spouse.
When I couldn’t sleep even though Mr. Aggie said he’d take Stinks into the living room, I didn’t play opposum just to punish him.
When I saw that Mr. Aggie had Stinks pointed directly at the blaring TV instead of rocking him in a dark corner, I didn’t berate him.
When Andrew wouldn’t go to sleep until 12:15, I didn’t dangle him, screaming, over Mr. Aggie’s side of the bed.
When the cat started trying to claw at Andrew’s head, sneezed on us several times, and then found a noisy toy to chase around the living room all moments after Andrew dozed off, I didn’t follow through on any of my muttered threats of dismemberment.
When I took Andrew back to bed at 1:00 but couldn’t fall asleep myself, I didn’t throat punch my snoring husband.
At 5:30 this morning when I asked Mr. Aggie to get Stinks dressed and changed while I took I shower and instead found Stinks crying like a crazy person while my husband moaned ineffectually at him without waking up before I could even get the water to the proper temperature, I didn’t hit Mr. Aggie in the head with a cast iron skillet.
When I got Stinks and myself completely ready to leave for work while Mr. Aggie continued to snooze, I didn’t drop an anvil on his manparts.
When I had to turn a light on, I didn’t light up the place like the flippin’ Fourth of July, complete with fireworks and a marching band.
When I left for work, crying baby in-tow, I didn’t give Mr. Aggie the finger.
I don’t know that I can claim full credit for the last one, since I’m pretty sure I only resisted because I knew it wouldn’t be effective given that Mr. Aggie was—you guessed it—still sleeping.
My husband is a fabulous father and a very supportive spouse, but last night and this morning helped me understand how some marriages are irreparably damaged by child-rearing. It’s exhausting and stressful, and the only person who truly understands your misery is too miserable himself to offer much sympathy. It’s a breeding ground for one-up-manship and resentment and an open invitation to scorekeeping and judgement. It would be a completely crap deal except for this: