To Desperately Praying Wives Everywhere,
Marriage isn’t what you imagined it to be, huh? I get it.
I remember being a young woman, daydreaming about building a family with the perfect guy. Maybe you too imagined how the Christmas cards would look, matching red pajamas, and beaming babies. Or you pictured sitting at the large, mahogany dining table together, sweet smiles, grateful bellies, an aura of well-earned pride over the most tender potroast ever. Sitting in the den, cuddled on the couch together, the doting children at your feet, a blazing fire crackling.
You didn’t ever see yourself screaming as you set up the auto-timer on your camera, “I said look this way! Smile or so help me, God!”
As you hurriedly tell your honey goodnight, taking your turn to tuck in exhausted kids at the end of another monotonous day, you realize, life is nothing like romance novels.
“It’s your turn,” you grumble to your spouse, in reference to the sink full of stained Corelle (the only dishes the children don’t consistently break), the aftermath of being a short-order cook for picky eaters.
Did anyone even say, thank you?!
It’s hardly ever movie night. No, it’s crying over homework right up until bedtime. It’s envying your partner as he dozes off in his recliner.
He could sleep through a tsunami!
It’s picking up the same mess, waiting in the car line at the elementary school. It’s taking off work for another doctor appointment, or leaving early to make the soccer game. It’s packing lunches, scraping together a fast meal, and telling your husband, “not tonight, hon. I feel all bloated.”
All you know is, it’s nothing like you imagined at all. You wanted a regular date night. Not a peck on the cheek as you scurry past one another on a rushed Monday morning.
“Do you know where I put my keys, dear?!” He says.
Sometimes you feel like no one could find their own butt if you didn’t tell them where God put it!
The next thing you know you’re angry about towels in the floor and balled up socks under the couch.
Does anyone know there’s a thing called a laundry basket?!
You find yourself easily annoyed over tiny nuisances.
Like, why does he put all his crap on the mantle?! It’s not his personal junk table!
Why is it every time you go in the bathroom, the hand towel is on the floor?!
