Watchful Lily

Commonplace
2010-03-31 13:44:05 (UTC)

March 31, 2010

I feel dramatic. I hate that I feel it. I hate that I feel
stupid that I feel it. I wish I could feel whatever I want
and not worry if it's too much or not enough or appropriate
or out of place.

I work from home. At the moment, we only have one working
vehicle which my husband, necessarily, takes to work every
day. I stay home with the baby, work while he's napping, do
housework or play with him while he's awake and then, when
my husband comes home, try to get more work done and make
dinner.

One day a week, I get to leave the house to spend a few
hours with my friends, knitting and socializing somewhere
other than these four walls, without the responsibilities
that they hold. Only one day.

It's an important day to me and I'm selfish about the time I
get to spend on that day. If my husband is late coming home
or dawdles when he gets here and doesn't take the baby
straight away, I get nervy and agitated. I want to *leave*.
I want to be free for a few hours, free to go anywhere I
want and do anything I want. He gets that freedom every day
and while we're both essentially bound to where we're going
-- he to work, me to my knitting group -- we *could* go
somewhere else.

Yesterday was that day for me, and my husband was both late
leaving work (thus late getting home) *and* he messed about
for a while before taking the baby. I had called him
earlier in the day to specifically mention I wanted to leave
a bit early to stop at the store and get things for the
baby's Easter basket before meeting my friends.

Apparently, it doesn't matter. He doesn't seem to
understand, despite the multiple times I've brought it up,
how very, very important this one day is to me. Fifteen or
thirty minutes might not make a big difference in his day,
but it's such a huge chunk of my freedom, it kills me.

I was angry when I left last night, sad when I got home. It
hurts that what's important to me doesn't phase him. I
don't mean that I think it should be important to him, too
-- he doesn't care about knitting and that doesn't matter to
me -- but I very much want the fact that it's important to
me to be important to him. I want him, on this one day, to
go out of his way for me. I don't want to have to ask him
every week. I don't want to feel like a nag. I don't want
to *be* a nag.

We fought. He asked what I was angry about, I told him, and
he made fun of me. He said, fine, he would come straight
home every week, run in the door, throw the keys aside and
snatch up the baby so I could leave. That hurts, too. I
don't want it to be this way. I don't want to be afraid to
tell him what's in me for fear of it being thrown back in my
face. He's the only one who I let in to begin with, and I
don't think I can bear hiding from him, too.




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