Dear Husband (a “say what you are thinking” comedic letter)

Dear Husband,

Why do you think you deserve a medal for watching the kids for a few hours? Why do you say, “I watched the kids”? They are your kids, right? It’s called parenting, my love. Do I need to hire you by the hour so I can take a shower? Fold the laundry or (gasp) meet a few friends for an early dinner once a month?

When I suggest we switch jobs, I’m half joking. Except I don’t think you could manage all that I do on a daily basis. You also told me you couldn’t!! (so you get some kudos for realizing how much I do). I could totally handle an out of the house job but we decided together, as a team, as parents that I would stay home. It not only makes financial sense but it’s something we have always wanted. Yes, I have always wanted to be a stay at home mom but like every job, being a mom has its good days and bad days. I’m allowed to have bad days too, ya know. While you are dealing with employees, schedules and customers… I’m dealing with tantrums, picky eaters, poop, puke, struggles to get wiggle worms in their car seat and the inability to hold an adult conversation. My days are not filled with flowers, aprons, a perfectly clean (smelling and looking) house, dinner on the table at 6pm and freshly baked cookies. That’s possible without the “mom” label but add a few kids in the mix? You’re lucky that I don’t have poop stains on my shirts. You’re even luckier on the days when I put on a little make-up.

And what’s up with the naps? You spend a morning watching “hanging out with the kids” and you need a nap? Where’s my nap? I spend every waking moment with the kids and I’m lucky if I get to sleep through the night. Oh, that’s right, you sleep through the coughs and the cries coming from the baby monitor so you don’t know just how sleep deprived I really am. And please stop getting mad at me for waking you when you snore like a baboon. See above. I just want a little sleep, okay?

I do have to give you some credit; with each child you have improved in the bodily fluid category. No longer does snot, puke and poop send you screaming towards the hills. I will give you that one. But come on, when you get sick? Man up. You’re not dying. Your head is not going to fall off or be eaten by wild hyenas. I’m the biggest wuss I know and at times, when you are sick, I question my Biggest Wuss Ever title.

PMS is real. It’s not a made up illness or a feeling that us women get. Our insides ache, our hormones rage and after spending all day with 3-foot-tall people who speak gibberish, we’re bound to unleash some of our wrath on you. I’m not saying it’s fair, I’m not saying I like it or do it on purpose; I’m just looking for a little understanding once in a while. I’m already jealous that you can shower, get dressed and still look presentable in a matter of 5 minutes. Cut me a little slack, okay?

Oh and one last thing, your days of watching a basketball or football game in “peace and quiet” ended 5 years ago.

Love you. Mean it!


Your Wife