Confessions

I am becoming a person that I can’t stand. I KNOW the words are coming out of my mouth and I KNOW that I need to stop and somehow I can’t. I hate the person that I am around my husband. I feel like I’m constantly annoyed with him, no matter how big or how little the problem is I just can’t stand him and immediately run off at the mouth. I yell all the time, I say mean things, I’m constantly nagging and bitching and complaining.


I feel like I have to be responsible for everything. I have to make sure that the boy has everything he needs, and that’s fine, that’s my job as a mom, but then I also have to make sure that my husband is doing the things that I need him to do and make sure he has everything HE needs. I don’t feel like that should be my responsibility, and I’ve said this to him and he just says he needs “reminding.” Who is going to remind me? What if I didn’t do it, then would it just not get done? Would our son end up pantsless, with peanut butter smeared around his mouth, no bedtime and his teeth falling out because no one bothered to brush them?

I have asked my husband repeatedly to get up a little earlier in the morning, because he is definitely the slowest person alive and I am constantly late to work because of him. His answer? Why don’t I get up earlier, so that I can wake him up and “help” him. With what does he need help, cause there are certain things I just can’t do. This morning, when he decided to go into the bathroom at the exact second that we needed to leave the house? I can’t poop for him, nor am I willing to wipe his ass, so how exactly would I have helped? And then when we went outside the car’s tire was completely flat and somehow I should have KNOWN that this may happen and if I would have gotten up earlier it wouldn’t be a big deal that he has to inflate the tire with his portable air blower thing that takes years to do. I stood out in the rain and screamed at my 32 year old husband about responsibility before it was even 6:30 in the morning.

I don’t want my son to think that this kind of behavior is okay, and I know that I need to control myself around him and stop fighting in front of him. It is lame to say that I can’t control it, but I swear it is like a switch is flicked and then it all comes pouring out. And I hate it; I hate this person that I am. I used to be happy, I know I did. I don’t know if this is my fault or A*’s fault and I don’t know how to go about fixing it. I have talked to him about how I feel, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I want Peanut to remember a happy home where there was laughter and music and parents that hug and kiss and dance in the kitchen, not ones who spit angry words at one another and then retreat to opposite corners. I’m tired of being like this.