Category Archives: Husband.

With All Due Respect, Men Could Not Handle This.

Posted on by

0

My friend Amy and I were having a discussion this week and she said if men could procreate, she would totally be down with that. I said there is no way men could handle this shit. 

I mean that in the nicest possible way. Pregnancy and childbirth is super hardcore; the most discomfort and pain I have ever dealt with in my life, times three. And it’s funny to me to think about a big, tough man bearing a child, because I’m certain it would turn even the toughest man beast into a sniveling wimp.

I have the utmost respect for men — I’m not one of those women who dog them and talk about how stupid or incapable they are. My husband is a wonderful man. He is smart and strong and able. He’s very, very manly and tall and looks like some kind of woodsman … and although I have never seen him do anything woodsman-like, I’m sure if push came to shove he would figure it out.

BUT.

If he had to watch his body change shape, with his innards forced up and to the side to make way for a person living in there, feel the alarming discomfort associated with a baby pounding on your cervix, and witness his private parts turn inside out … I’m fairly certain he couldn’t deal. Maybe it’s the way men are about their private areas –– highly protective — that would prevent them from being able to handle child birth. Either way, it ain’t no joke. 

I mean … LOOK AT WHERE MY INTESTINES ARE RIGHT NOW.

All of this makes me wonder, “Why did I want to do this again??” And truthfully, I have no idea. There is just something in me that said “It’s time for another one,” and so I said “Okay then.” And here we are. 

I have things happening to my lady parts that are definitely NOT normal. I assume it’s because this is my third child. I also assume that if I chose to have a fourth, I could expect my situation to go even more downhill the next time … which is why Husband will be getting a vasectomy soon.

Husband: You know you’ll have to drive me to the doctor and bring me back home and take care of me afterwards, right??

Me: I’m aware.

Husband: And bring me breakfast in bed.

Me: WHAT?!

Husband: I’ll be in pain, Harmony!

Me: DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO ME ABOUT PAIN. 

Open Letter.

Posted on by

0

Dear Husband,

If you want my sympathy when you are sick, maybe you should drink the big cup of water sitting next to your bedside instead of wandering into the kitchen, spreading your germs, and drinking a Coke.

Horrified, I tried to snatch it out of your hands. But you’re too damn tall and held it out of reach. 

This is the point where you lost what was left of my pity. Your mother has been notified. 

Let me know what the doctor says.

XOXO,
Harmony 

Husband.

Posted on by

0

Husband turned 31 on Sunday and I have guilt because I was exhausted from a busy week and we didn’t have enough money to buy him a real present. But I did bake him a cake, and he got cards from all of us. 

ONE helped with the decorations. Obviously.

Last year I gave him an outdoor wireless speaker from Brookstone. This year I gave him love and a whole lot of children.

I don’t feel like I give the man enough credit, so that is why I’m writing this post. He got kind of shafted for his birthday, and the very next day I asked him to stop at the grocery store on his way home. 

Then I sent him the list.

 
I wanted to include the tube of mascara in the picture so he could see what kind to look for, and I gave specific instructions not to get the waterproof kind. He never uttered a word of complaint for having to hunt for mascara in the makeup aisle, and he brought home exactly what I asked for.

That’s a real man. He deserves a high-five the next time you see him.

Wednesday.

Posted on by

0

I don’t know what is going on with Husband, but I like it. Last night, he scrubbed the coffeepot, which has never in its life been scrubbed clean, and this morning he made coffee without me asking him to and THEN HE BROUGHT ME A CUP OF IT.

Who is this man?! I’d like to keep him.

Husband Award.

Posted on by

0

Husband deserves recognition for being awesome this week. 

He brought me flowers. He and my father-in-law took the toilet apart during a two-night process and retrieved the Tonka truck that was causing it to repeatedly overflow. He cleaned the bathroom after they put it all back together. He also scrubbed the bathtub, since I am not supposed to breathe in chemicals during gestation.

He ran errands, fed and bathed the kids, and got the house cleaned up so I wouldn’t have to do it. He cooked all of us eggs to order this morning. (!!!) Mine was fried and it was divine. 

He made me coffee and rubbed my feet and told me several times I wasn’t crazy. I don’t care if he was lying. I love that man. All past sins have been forgotten.

Scrambled Eggs.

Posted on by

0

This morning, whilst cleaning scrambled eggs off the floor (courtesy of TWO):

Me (talking to no one in particular): In 3 years, I will no longer have to pick food up off the floor. Everyone in this house will be old enough to know better. In 3 years, I will be turning 36 and I will no longer have to get on my hands and knees to pick up eggs that a baby threw on the floor. Just three more years of egg-picking-up. Three more years.

Husband: In 3 years, you might be senile. In fact, you’ll probably be the one throwing food on the floor. BECAUSE YOU’LL BE OLD.

Ahhh, yes. Thank you for that, Husband. Little do you know, I will be spending our money on little treatments here and there so I never look a day over my actual age.

And I’ll throw eggs on the floor if I damn well please. 

These people spend an awful lot of energy trying to push my buttons. I’ll remember that when I’m doing my Christmas shopping for a new purse them. 

How the Song Was Made.

Posted on by

0

Today, Husband made up a song titled “Harmony the Grumpy Preggo,” which goes along to the tune of “Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer.” 

I didn‘t find it amusing, because he made me mad while we were out shopping … and when I said I wouldn’t be speaking to him until he apologized for trying to make me push the umbrella stroller, carry our huge diaper bag, AND carry my large Icee … he said “I’m sorry you have such a big diaper bag.“

So YES, I am grumpy. I am not a pack mule. I am a woman who is glowing and pregnant and I reminded him a lot of men out there would bend over backwards to carry whatever I wanted them to carry. I had to remind him of every creepy creeperton who has seen me out and asked “You got a man?” Yeah, I got a man. A man who makes up songs about me. 

Pregnant Harmony is a DIVA. But Pregnant Harmony doesn’t CARE. She wanted to shriek in the middle of the mall, “Carry my shit and get me another Icee, before I go CRAZY ON YOUR ASS!!“ I didn’t say that, of course. There were children present. 

Instead I stamped my cowboy boot and said “I DON’T THINK SO,” and stared at him until he took the stroller and left me with the diaper bag and Icee.

And that, my friends, is how the song was made. 

Black Friday.

Posted on by

1

Text sent to Husband this morning:

“The next time you clip your toenails all over the floor and fail to sweep them up, I am going to make you wish you didn’t have toes.”

Is this how women get labeled as bitches after they have been married for 7-ish years and produced a few children? If so, I think that is unfair. I simply cannot have a houseful of people who clip their toenails willy-nilly and don’t pick them up afterwards. I have too much to do, like make sure teeth are brushed and children are fed, to constantly sweep up other people’s clippings. 

This may be an overreaction (I AM pregnant, let’s keep that in mind), however, any time I find things like this I have a flash-forward vision of FOUR PEOPLE’S TOENAIL CLIPPINGS — that is, one Husband and three children who copy his behavior — littered about the house and it kind of freaks my freak. Like literally, my chest gets tight and I have to make myself take deep breaths just thinking about it. Then I have to remind myself that I am not sweeping up four people‘s toenail clippings yet. Just one person’s. One person who I will make pay for this.

Quite often I feel like I am waging a constant war against foolishness. Sometimes it’s against myself.