By Audrey Sanchez of Two Dogs, One Cat and a Baby

Before I start shit talking my husband, the obligatory mention of my love for him. He’s awesome. I love him. So glad he’s mine! Back off, ladies and fellas!!!!

In all seriousness, it’s important for me to acknowledge how truly privileged I am to have him and how grateful I am for all that he does for our family (blah blah blah). That being said, sometimes I resent him. Resent may be too strong a word, actually. Annoyed is more like it, but it’s not a strong enough word. Let’s just say the emotion I feel is somewhere between resentful and annoyed, but “resoyedful” isn’t a real world.

To be clear, he doesn’t annoy me everyday. I also don’t experience persistent, unrelenting resentment by any means. My love is not cancelled out by resentment or vice versa. Annoyance and love are not mutually exclusive, and it’s a rare day that I fantasize about smothering him in his sleep. Today just happens to be one of those days.

Obviously, I don’t actually want to smother my husband and father of our child. I just want to do something that communicates my angst in a fashion a little more dramatic than the silent treatment and little less dramatic than setting his car on fire. A happy medium if you will.

This morning, that angst started when he overslept…and what follows is a definitive list of the reasons I’m annoyed with my husband today.

5:30 AM  

Husband’s alarm goes off. Husband’s alarm wakes up baby. Baby wakes up me. Husband snoozes alarm. I cannot snooze baby.

5:35-6:00 AM

Baby and I get out of bed. Baby follows me into bathroom and demands to be nursed. Baby refuses to wait 15 freaking seconds for me to wipe. Baby insists on nursing WHILE I’M ON THE TOILET.

Dog runs into bathroom while I’m nursing baby (on the toilet) and whimpers to be let out. I stand up, wipe?, pull pajama pants up with one hand, and let the dog out. Baby is still nursing.

We (as in, latched on baby and I) feed the dogs and the cat. Make coffee. Gather diaper changing goods and baby’s clothes for the day. All with one hand.

Husband is still asleep.

6:01-6:34 AM

Husband’s alarm goes off. Husband literally falls out of bed, stands, and wobbles to the bathroom with the coordination of a drunk freshman.

Baby and I are making breakfast. My first breakfast. Her second breakfast if you count the toilet nursing.

Husband turns on shower. Stands in bathroom with water running and checks his phone.

Husband does “7 minute workout” in the office. The water is still running.

Baby refuses to eat the eggs we just cooked, throws them on the ground instead. Dogs and I clean up eggs on the ground.

Baby asks for a popsicle.

6:34-7:28 AM

Ostensibly, husband showers. Or sleeps in the bathroom, standing up like a horse.

I strap baby in our Ergo and wrangle, then leash the dogs. I walk the dogs, dutifully collect dog waste like a good neighbor, and sing Wheels on the Bus four billion times.

Husband dresses and leaves for work while we’re on our walk. Husband forgets to take trash out.

I check the clock and start counting down the minutes until husband returns from work. Only 11 hours and 2 minutes to go.

7:30-10:00 AM

Baby and I read a bajillion books.

Husband has adult conversations.

Baby and I go to the park.

Husband has adult conversations.

Baby nurses to sleep.

Husband uses his brain to solve meaningful problems.

10:00-11:00 AM

I empty the dishwasher, fold laundry, straighten the tornado that is the house.

Turn on the shower to let it warm up. Baby wakes up 30 minutes early. Turn off the shower and go get baby. Turn the shower back on, undress baby, and shower while the baby plays beneath my feet.

I don’t know what my husband is doing right now, but it’s definitely not taking a lukewarm shower with a 14 month old.

11:00 AM -3:00 PM

Load and unload the baby from the car six trillion times while shoveling stale Cheerios into my mouth. Morph into a cliche in real time.

Husband eats meal with two hands.

Books, playing, singing, park, petting zoo, chores, dog walks, snacks. It’s basically the movie “Groundhog’s Day” where everyday is the same. Or at least some version of the same activities in slightly different orders.

3:00-3:23 PM

Baby “naps.”

I sit down to write, baby wakes from “nap.”

3:30-6:25 PM

Obsessively check the clock every 3 minutes to make sure time is not, in fact, standing still.

Baby eats rocks or something. I don’t know.

Husband makes decisions about his body and time at his own free will. Husband does not once nurse a child at his breast, nor does he wipe the ass of another human being. Husband is not trapped in his small house like a wet rat in a ball of fire.

6:25 PM

Husband calls to tell me he’s just leaving the office and won’t be home for another 40 minutes.

In the midst of my nervous breakdown, I eyeball the pillows but ultimately decide that smothering him would be counter productive.

6:26-7:05 PM

Baby asks for dinner. I feed the baby and run a bath. Although the kid has technically already had a shower, bath time becomes more about passing time and less about hygiene.

Husband walks through the front door. Dogs and baby lose their damn minds with excitement. Baby squeals and runs to him. Dogs get so excited they pee on the ground.

Husband and baby frolic like Dorothy and Toto in a poppy field just outside of Oz. I clean up dog piss.

7:05-8:00 PM

Wine.

8:00-8:10 PM

I nurse the baby to sleep.

8:11 PM

The surge of oxytocin hits and I realize something important.

Although I’ve been resenting my husband all day for the things he “gets to do” and comparing that to all the things I “have to do,” the joke is really on him. At the end of the day, my “have to dos” are far and away superior (at least for me, personally) to his “get to dos.”  So in reality, the have-tos and the get-tos are reversed.

I get to play with my child. He has to have meetings with strangers. I get to spend time outside moving my body and laughing. He has to sit at a desk under fluorescent lights. I get to teach my child to read and sing. He has to read legal documents and sign paperwork.

This it not to say that working (by choice or necessity) is any less important, demanding, or fulfilling than staying home with a child. I’ve been on both sides of the equation. For the first eight months of my child’s life, I was the breadwinner. For the most recent eight, my husband has been. The challenges and sacrifices for all parties involved are real. The rewards are unique to each role, and both are meaningful.

I have absolute respect for my working husband. He has to do some pretty important things for the world, and his willingness to work affords me the privilege of staying home with our wild child.

I wouldn’t trade places with him or change our days for anything. Well, minus of course the alarm clock, the temperature of my shower, and the dog pee. On the other hand, I am entirely grateful we have electricity, running water, and…actually the dog pee still sucks. So, who’s resoyedful now?

This post was originally published on Two Dogs, One Cat, and a Baby

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About the Author

Audrey Sanchez is originally from a town in Kansas so small it has only one stop sign. Since then, she’s called Boulder, New Orleans, and most recently Kansas City home. Mother to toddler Ada, dogs Clyde and Fancy, and cat Hushpuppy, Audrey blogs about her interspecies parenting adventures at www.twodogsonecatandababy.com In addition to the chaos that her many critters bring, Audrey spends her time laundering cloth diapers, getting ready to go but never really making it to the gym, and fantasizing about REM cycles.