You should be afraid.
But, for the sake of full disclosure, Here goes:
I am not a good wife all the time.
Don't be shocked.
Put down your paper bag - I'm going to explain....
Sometimes, I don't want to be a good wife.
Sometimes, I even make the conscious decision not to be a good wife.
Sometimes, I am pmsing and I've been around 2 little tyrants who scream their demands at me while I am trying to clean up their poop.
And sometimes, just sometimes, I choose to be the wife that nags and whines and pouts.
Admittedly, on occasion, it's involuntary.
But most of the time, I choose it.
Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep listening to my husband, who was still working at 11 pm, talking on his phone next to me, this was the fight I battled.
It had been a particularly long day.
After a particularly long week.
I honestly hadn't said more than a sentence or 2 to him all day.
And at the end of the day, I just wanted a few minutes of his attention.
If you know me, you might know my passive aggressive drill. (Sarah, you'll recognize this IMMEDIATELY)
1. I sigh, ALOT.
Usually very loudly.
You know that sound your dog makes when he sees a squirrel? My sighs are a little like that.
Very deep, in the back of my throat. Just aggressive enough to let everyone around you know that you want something.
And yet subtle at the same time.
2. Then, I make my presence known.
Usually by stomping or banging something.
Think Teresa Guidice.
Think almost, but not really, subtle.
Think, I may have flipped a table in my time...
3. Finally, I play the martyr.
Think Cinderella complex.
Think not at all the strong, independent Drew Barrymore version.
Think "woe-is-me" Disney version.
Usually I start by saying things like, "Do you want anything to eat or drink before I go to bed, sweetheart?"
Usually, DRIPPING with sarcasm.
And last night was pretty much classic Leah-at-her-passive-aggressive-best.
I may or may not have even succumbed to prancing around in lingerie.
Because nothing is as passive aggressive, as a lingerie clad wife who has no intentions of putting out.
But as I climbed in bed, I clicked over to Facebook.
Admittedly, not typically the wisest decision for someone in woe-is-me-passive-aggressive-mode.
As it typically only leads to more wallowing...
But last night, I saw this...
Cue sucker punch to the lacey nighty.
As much as it may have behooved me last night to say it, I have a fantastic husband.
Who works very hard for our family.
To the extreme of working long days and late nights while the rest of us are sleeping.
It's not my job to love him when he's paying attention to me.
It's not my job to love him on good days.
It's not my job to love him when life is easy and we see eye to eye on every little thing.
It's my job to respect him for who he is and to love him for it.
So, for today, that's where I'm at.
Because that's what love is all about.
Now, excuse me while I go pack my Teresa Guidice angry face away for a while....