Devil Baby

Do you know why my baby is demon spawn, sent from Satan to ravage my soul? Okay, she isn't at all, but I kind of needed to open the entry that way for symmetry's sake (see my last entry).



But having a baby is really hard on a marriage. I found myself actively hating my husband last night. Like, lying in bed stewing and thinking of horrible things I could say to him. Have I mentioned he's the primary caregiver? Kind of? He has her 4 days a week, I have her 2 & a half, and then we have her together one morning or evening before he goes in to work a half day. This works for us for several reasons, not the least of which because my husband is a natural homemaker and I am not. It's not like he likes cleaning, but it drives him nuts if the house is cluttered, where I could happily step over our messes for months. And he loves organizing. And he has an eye for design. My habitat has improved greatly since we moved in together. Pre-baby, when we both worked full time, the house would get really cluttered and he would sigh and bemoan the fact that the house was a mess, but he would sort of beat himself up about it as well as me. But now that he has a bit more time in the house, he cleans up when he can, and beats up on me for making a mess, and bemoans the fact that he seems to spend most of his time cleaning.



So that's part of the backdrop for last night. Which was Monday. Here's the rest: On Thursday, my husband did some major housecleaning. On Friday, I took care of our daughter and managed not to leave too much of a footprint. On Saturday, he left for work in the morning and I did some cooking, in between taking care of my daughter and getting us ready to go to the suburbs for a game night with our friend. We were spending the night, so I packed a bag light enough to carry with her to the train (a 20 minute or so walk) and took off in the evening. I left a mess in the kitchen, which I knew hubby would hate, but the time got away from me and I couldn't miss the train. I'd made beef stock and was worried that the dirty pot and other dirty implements were going to stink to high heaven by the time we got back, so I covered them best I could. I also left a food-smeared high chair tray on a kitchen chair.

We made it to our friends, had great fun playing and drinking and talking into the wee hours of the morning. Anonybabe had already been asleep for a few hours, and by the time I fell into bed I was exhausted. She wasn't sleeping well, kicking and turning and awakening every hour or so to cry out, so I didn't sleep too well. Then we spent the morning gabbing more with my friend, did a little shopping, got home, and dropped all of our stuff in the living room on top of her toys and some clean clothes that hadn't been put away. So now the living room was a wreck, the kitchen was a wreck, the bedroom was pretty messy and we were all exhausted. My husband got the baby to sleep for a short nap and took off for work, kissing me on the cheek and waving away my apologies that the house was such a mess. Then anonybabe woke up immediately with what was turning into a viscious cold. I tended to her for several hours, then got her to sleep a little before her dad got home. By this time I'm exhausted, the house is still a wreck, and I fall into bed. As I'm drifting off I hear anonydad freaking out about the stream of ants mobbing around the food that must've fallen to the floor when I fed her Saturday morning.

Anonybabe's cold makes her super restless that night, and since I breastfeed, I'm the one to get up with her. We don't get much sleep. When I get to work, I am peppered with annoyed calls from my anonyhusband as he realizes just how dirty the kitchen is. What he doesn't realize is just how tired I am. So when I get home and take the baby from him and inform him I will graciously give him 30 minutes of cleaning time before I fall into bed, he lets me have it. Which pisses me off. We do that horrible thing where we insult each other through the baby: "we're going to have to call DCFS to take mommy away for letting so many ants in the house, aren't we?" "we're going to have to tell dad to suck it, won't we?" We aren't laughing. We're mad.

So I go to bed hating him, wanting to say something horrible, wanting him to suffer. Why does he have to get so pissed off about cleaning? Yes, it's important. But the reality is that I'm not going to get to it all the time, I am not going to spend all of my precious not-work time cleaning, so back the fuck off.

*Sigh*. Then I got some sleep and loved my husband again. And I even make an effort to remember to wipe up the food that falls to the floor when she eats.

But this is kind of scary. When you don't get enough sleep or enough time together so that fights about cleaning the kitchen turn into a 2 day hatefest? I knew parenting would be hard, but the strain on my marriage is something that kind of blindsided me.

And I'm thinking of having another? Am I nuts?