so the boy came home this morning, ate leftover spaghetti from last night, had a shower, and went to bed after his overnight flight.
he took the garbage out before he went to bed, and i thought “for 9 days that’s been me, doing everything, i’ve been on garbage duty.” it’s nice to share the work.
but i’m going to (try to) remember the independent girl i’ve been for the past 9 days and i’m going to continue to do for myself and not EXPECT him to do things, because as we all fucking know (and i cannot seem to remember), is that expectations is how we prepare ourselves to be disappointed.
It’s like we plan to be disappointed, and then working backwards we realize we need failed expectations to be in place to get our desired result.
you’ve heard this before, right? this isn’t new, oui?
we utilize unfulfilled expectations as justification for righteous indignation. except we’re the one who created the wacky expectations in the first place.
this must be a trait of boozers. it must be something we share… Like, have you ever done this, been in a crappy mood and pretty much looked around to FIND something to be snarky about? yeah. me too.
So while he has slept most of the day while i worked (he’s on nap #2 now), and while he continues to be unable to say “what can i do to help” but instead waits to be asked and then happily will help, i am – for today – remembering that i’m capable of doing all of this alone. i can focus on being relieved and happy for any and all help. but i must remember that i don’t require help. i’m not a dependent child. and i can’t demand help. (to be fair, the catering – unlike child rearing – is my project, not a shared effort… and the ways that kid-less couples share household work is completely different from couples with kids, though resentments can grow in either case).
i’m not saying that Mr. B doesn’t help. I’m saying that i’m in charge of how miserable i make myself when it comes to failed unrealistically ridiculous expectations.