in a land far away, lived a beautiful (stunning?) princess named, oh, let's call her Lesley. Why? Because it's a name befitting a ravishing beauty. Deal. With. It.
Lesley was married to a terrible ogre. Not a Shrek-like ogre, but a pretty horrible guy.
The kind of guy that expects her to just SIT THERE AND NOT CARE when the dishes need to be done. The kind of guy that says "I'll do them in the morning" and then expects that the knowledge of said dirty dishes won't drive her COMPLETELYINSANEALLEVENINGLONG!
Like I said, a terrible ogre.
Some people might call Lesley a control freak. Suggest she learn to relax and let other's help while accepting that they will do it at their own pace.
Some people would be WRONG. Just because I like things the way I like them and want them done when I want them done and expect others to ask "HOW HIGH" when I say "jump" DOES! NOT! MAKE! ME! A! CONTROL! FREAK!
My patience is wearing thin (duh, say it isn't so!) with my inability to do things. I can't vacuum. Can't mop. Can't lean over and clean the bathtub. Can't carry laundry up and down the stairs (I can still fold and hang things up, though). I can do the dishes, assuming my shot hasn't knocked me out (which was the case the other night).
I know that some people would say "I would love it if someone else did all that stuff for me". Ironically, pre-pregnancy me complained when I felt like I was doing "everything". Now I complain because I can't do it.
We females are confusing creatures (and I'm woman enough to admit that).
The crux of the problem is this: MotH and I aren't on the same page regarding what a clean house looks like. I think bathtubs need to be scrubbed out every week, he thinks once a month is adequate. Every time he mops (about every two weeks.....I was doing it every week, just for the record) he makes a point to show me how little dirt the mop actually picked up. I presume this is to show me I'm "wrong" in my assertion that it needs to be done every week.
Since I'm basically powerless to do anything, I pretty much have to suck it up.
I'm not so great at that, as it turns out.
Okay, all kidding (and complaining) aside, MotH is doing a fantastic job picking up what I can't do. My frustration is not with him, my frustration is with my feelings of uselessness. Yes, yes, I know I'm doing something very important, but I can't help but think of all the women that squatted in a cotton field, delivered a child and went right back to picking cotton.
I can't even WASH my cotton.
3 years ago