If you’re wondering why I’m angry at you again, it’s because this morning, I turned on the coffee maker without the coffee pot.
I was in the living room, nursing our child and waiting to pour myself a steaming mug of coffee I knew I’d end up drinking cold, unaware that coffee grounds were bubbling up out of the filter and burning on the hot base. My coffee was definitely cold by the time I finished wiping it up off the kitchen floor.
And where were you while all of this was going on? At work? Advancing your career and earning a living for your family? Could you be any more selfish?
As if I didn’t have anything better to do today. I couldn’t think of a more fulfilling way to spend my morning than digging damp coffee grounds out of grout on my hands and knees with a teething baby screaming to be picked up.
Why didn’t you call and remind me to put the pot on the coffee maker? You know I’m always running fifty directions. You know my mind is always fried. Why do you never come through when I need you?
I’m angry at you again because the baby is cutting teeth and wouldn’t go down for a nap. I’m exhausted because she woke me up all night long (me, not you) and I just needed a few minutes of peace and quiet to brush my teeth. But she wouldn’t nap.
I’m angry at you because I’ve got a million and one chores to do, and I can’t seem to keep up with them. Why haven’t you hired me a live-in maid and nanny? Am I expected to care for a house and child by myself? (No, now is not the time to remind me I said I want seven more.)
I’m angry at you because you came home from work happy. You got to leave the house this morning and only buckle yourself into the car. You got to spend the day with other adults. Your coworkers didn’t need you to wipe their noses or butts, and no one sucked your boobs dry. I’m angry that you’re in a good mood because I’m not.
I’m angry at you for being our baby’s father because I feel like what she really needs is another mother.
I’m angry at you because I’m angry at myself. No matter how much I accomplish, there’s always more and it makes me feel inadequate. I want to greet you with a kiss and a clean house, the smell of dinner wafting down the hall, and a happy, well-rested child climbing your leg.
Instead you get me: frazzled, stressed, and overwhelmed. I’m not the mother I want to be, and it makes me angry. I’m not the wife I know you need, and that makes me angry.
Dear Husband, I’m sorry that it seems like I’m angry at you. We have different roles, and it’s hard for me to see you excelling at yours while I feel like I’m drowning in mine.
The way I treat you sometimes, I don’t deserve your grace, but I need it. I need your patience and your love. I need you to think I’m beautiful with baby poop and snot on my clothes.
I also need you to hold the baby while I go change into a different set of pajamas and brush my teeth for the first time today, and my gosh, you have no idea how badly I have to pee. Thanks.