I changed the title of our blog. Because, it's not just mine. It's an adventure. A tag team adventure. Because I can't do it alone. And I shouldn't have to. And I try, and it doesn't work.
It's called MARRIAGE. And this isn't 1920. And I'm not a feminist or anything, but it's not my sole responsibility to house, nurture, feed, groom, pick up after, clean up after, yell at, discipline, and so on, ON MY OWN. I'm not a single mom. I have a husband. The children's FATHER!
And he is good. He's not me, but he'll do. Because let's be honest. No man can do what a woman does. I'm not bashing men or anything. Believe me. I love my husband. He's amazing. But the past week and a half has made it abundantly clear to me that he just can't do it like I do it. And frankly, he doesn't want to! He doesn't like it!
I don't blame him.
It's exhausting.
You know that Built Ford Tough commercial? They're talking about moms. Built mom tough. There's other trucks that are like that Ford, but none can do even remotely what that Ford does! They can try to be like the Ford. They can make themselves look like it, act like it, but they aren't it! They don't have a vagina in their Ford. I'm pretty sure it's scientifically proven. Men can not multi task without getting flustered and blowing a gasket or needing a break check, or a new steering wheel. Men want to try to act like they can do it all, but when shit hits the fan, they run screaming and hide in their rooms waiting for the mom to step in and take over. Mind you, if a man tried to step in a take over, the Ford tough mom, would eat them alive. Like, praying mantis style. You don't ever take over what mama bear is doing! Shut your mouth until she says otherwise!
So, last week when I tore my Achilles and drove myself to the hospital, and then to the x ray place down the street, and then called my husband and was like, Oh I'm not supposed to drive. And he was all, cool I guess I'll come home from work then. Yes. Yes you should. And for 4 days I sat on the couch and elevated and iced my foot. While he took care of the children. And the house, and the cooking and the cleaning and the dog. And after three days you know what? He got PISSED. I couldn't remember the password to our bank account and asked him to call to find out what it was and he about lost his shit! Because I couldn't remember, and WHERE DID HIS HAS-IT-TOGETHER-ALL-THE-TIME-WIFE GO?!?! Wow.
I guess I forgot to tell him that I had tagged him in? Sorry husband. I'm really sorry I hurt myself. Really. Really!
