I don’t remember signing up to be the bottom of the totem.

Okay, this particular time isn’t his fault, but why is it that every time I’m not feeling my best, my husband has a million other things that require his attention over me? When he’s got so much as a bruise, he sits delicately and can’t be bothered to do such menial tasks as changing diapers, bathing kids, or putting anybody to bed. The slightest elevation in the noise level in the house is cause for moaning and whining about how he doesn’t feel well and can’t get any rest. Never mind the fact that I deal with the yelling, screaming, whining, and general chaos all day long without a break. I’m not asking him to supervise the kids indefinitely when he’s under the weather, but I could do without the sob story every time I hand off the baby to take a piss. Most days I’m up by 6 am, and don’t get a break from the kids until Reed is asleep, which doesn’t usually happen until close to 10 pm. Even when I’m sick. Last week I had the flu. And yet, I changed diapers, fed both kids, crawled around on the floor playing Hot Wheels, washed laundry, ran the dishwasher, and did a host of other chores, without so much as a trip to the bathroom by myself. 4 days later, Heath caught my flu. He alternated between sitting in front of the computer, and laying in bed watching TV, while I still fed, bathed, washed, etc, etc. You get the picture. I don’t think he’s been near the changing table in 2 weeks, at least. Now I’m coming down with it again, but do I get to sit and put my feet up? No. I realize that his mom is in the hospital. I realize he’s completely drained from seeing her in this condition, and I haven’t asked him to do anything for just that reason. It just feels so unfair that it’s always something when it should be my turn to be babied. Last night, I sat up with Reed so that Heath could rest downstairs. Did he thank me? No, instead he griped and complained about not being able to go to bed until I came downstairs. You’re oh so welcome. (::note the sarcasm::)

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