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So I know now why I was in such a blucky mood yesterday. At 3:30 this morning, I returned to the land of the productively reproductive. I knew the stay on feminine protection couldn't last forever--I'd just gotten so used to not thinking about it. Ah well--it was a good run.
I'm upstairs, gathering my composure before I head back to the kitchen and the Husband. We were supposed to go to a craft fair in western Massachusetts today--something that happens once a year and which we plan months in advance. It's been on the calendar in the kitchen since August. Last week, when we talked about why there would be no Friend Thanksgiving this year (or rather, when he vetoed my desire to host Friend Thanksgiving), he pointed to today and noted that it was a day he was going to lose in getting things done around here before the Real Thanksgiving, when we have 12 or so people joining us for dinner.
Yesterday, he told me that he thought it made more sense for him to stay home and work on the house, but that Will and I should plan to go anyway. Yeah. 'Cause I'm going to make the hour and a half drive each way and then handle the baby in the crowd by myself. Something like that requires a tag team, and I couldn't ask my mom or Gail to be the other end of that--it's not fair. Consequently, we didn't go. Because he wanted to work on the house.
At 8:00, I roused his ass out of bed. At 9:00, he headed into the bathroom to shower. Not sure why he was going to shower before crawling around on the floor, but that's how he operates. At 9:30, the water finally turned on. At 10:30, I told him that he was going to have one cranky wife on his hands if today ended and the kitchen looked just like it did yesterday. That I gave up my plans so he could work on the house, so he'd better get his ass in gear and get something done. It's now 11:00, and I'm afraid to go downstairs.
I don't trust myself to keep my mouth shut.
Sigh.
Why why WHY does he set me up to be the bad guy?
Oh, and did I mention that he made plans with his dad this morning to go pull up carpet at the apartment building his family owns at 3:00 this afternoon? Because he can always finish the floor tomorrow.
If I wasn't sure I loved him, I'd kick his ass right now.
You'd think that, being aware of my fluctuating hormonal level, he'd take it into consideration in planning his actions.
The card was right. Boys are stupid. But we love them anyway. What does that make us?
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