So yesterday I got some child-free time to go into town and do some shopping and have lunch with some friends. I don't get to do this very often, and it was in a direct trade-off with dh's free time that he had on Saturday (a whole day to go off on a jolly into London while I looked after an increasingly stroppy ds).
When I got back, the house looked like a bomb had hit it, but I can cope with that! Dh and ds were both having a nap upstairs - a nap which turned out to be 3 hours long and meant that ds was a nightmare to get to bed in the evening - but hey, i don't even deal with bedtime, that's dh's part and I can deal with that.
Dh had done a couple of loads of washing and drying while I was out for which I was very grateful, but when we got up this morning (both needing to get to work, ds needing to be taken to nursery) i walked into our spare room where we keep the clean washing, to find a massive pile of crumpled laundry on the floor.
Previously, there had been a vague system of a pile of stuff that needed ironing, and then on the bed, folded (and the key word here is folded) piles, sorted into three for me, dh and ds. Now there is just a tangle of clean, crumpled clothes on the floor (so half of it will need washing again) - I felt like a woman in a disaster relief movie picking through the rubble trying to find some clothes for ds to wear to nursery!
So I go downstairs to get ds dressed, and look in his change bag for a nappy. There are none.
"What are you looking for?" says dh
"A nappy," says I. "There are none. The cupboard appears to be bare. Why did you not tell me you had used the last nappy and I could have got some more."
"You are always telling me we have loads of nappies," says dh.
"They are in the fucking car," says I. "Had you told me that you had used the last one, I could have brought some in with me."
Ds by this time is screaming in the sofa, stripped to his (very wet) nappy and naked, so I can't exactly run out to the car and get them. Dh is running about 10 minutes behind, I am coming to the slow realisation that rather than going back to bed after dropping ds off at nursery like I had planned (I don't start work till 10) I'm going to have to spend the morning when I should be sleeping sorting the fucking washing out.
Why does he do this? It's like he's punishing me for having time off. Obviously I'm pleased he did the laundry, but he makes everything so fucking hard, now not only will I have to fold everything, some of it will need ironing when it wouldn't have needed it previously because it had been tumbledried - and if it had been folded/hung up straight away it would have been fine.
I know he's stressed with work, but guess what? So am i! He's not the only person who has to combine work and family and life and children. He just drifts through life expecting everyone to pick up after him and then seems surprised when i erupt into cataclysmic rage. It's making me seriously evaluate our relationship - i love him very much but this is making me ill with tiredness and stress.
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AIBU?
Well? Am i? (Warning: woman on the edge here)
139 replies
theSuburbanDryad · 20/10/2008 08:50
OP posts:
sleepycatonabroomstick ·
20/10/2008 09:19
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MurderousMarla ·
20/10/2008 09:25
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