Throwing My Weight Around
Last night ended with a very cranky me driving my beer-sodden husband home and man-handling him into bed. I awoke this morning at 7:00 AM to the realization that hubby was: a. still fully dressed, b. had stolen all of the covers, and I woke up because I was freezing cold, and c. he was snoring like a bear.
Bad mood. Bad mood. I grabbed my bathrobe, slung it on, and departed unceremoniously for the living room and the life-affirming properties of cold spaghetti for breakfast. That's when I heard the familiar, weekly grinding noise outside, and thought, "Oh CRAP! GARBAGE DAY!"
The truck was still two doors down, and of course, the hubby forgot to put the cans out last week and was in no condition to put them out last night.
So I ran out in my highly unflattering powder blue bathrobe, and manhandled the cans (full to overflowing) to the curb, in full view of my new next-door neighbors and the garbage collection commitee.
Then I went back into the bedroom.
"Honey- My Dr. appointment's at 10."
I shook him. No joy. We'd descussed the things supportive couples do for each other, and this Dr's. appointment was supposed to cover a lot of stuff I knew he'd grill me about me later.
But he didn't look like he'd be moving in the next decade or so. So I took a shower, had breakfast, got dressed. As I was leaving, he finally revived enough to peer at me blearily and say, "Kiss?" Just in time for me to slam the door.
Yeah, I was pissed. But the doctor's went well, they were pleased with the weight loss so far, and I got a lot of questions answered about what's going on with me, so that's good.
It was almost noon when I got out of there. I called hubby's cell to see if he wanted to meet up for lunch. Once, twice.....no answer.
At this point, I went into angry housewife mode. By the time I got home, I was disgruntled and monosyllabic. Hubby actually got out of bed to ask me about the appointment, which was probably a mistake.
"You saw the doctor, right?"
"How'd it go?"
"Did he answer your questions?"
"Are you pissed about something?"
He kept at it, and finally I just exploded, "You know, this affects you too, and you've missed my last three appointments and I don't feelyoubeingsupportiveand you obviouslydon'tcare'boutme and I hate not having any control over anything anymore and........AAaAAAAaaa!"
I exploded into tears while he sat on the opposite couch, bewildered.
"Are you OK?"
He came over and hugged me while I alternately bawled and sniffled into a washcloth. (I'd been folding laundry, and it was handy.)
"I'm sorry honey. You shouldn't have to feel this way. I'll go to the next appointments." Pause. "Is this a hormonal thing?"
"Oh GOD! I don't know, but I am sick of blaming everything on my goddamned hormones!!"
He peered at me, much like a child would peer at a lamprey eel hiding in an undersea lava formation. I hope that conveys the mixture of fear and wonder. Anyway, I threw a pillow at him and buried my face in the washcloth again. "Just leave me alone."
"I just wanted to say- and I know this is a weird time- but you look great. You look beautiful. I know you're working so hard, and it shows. I've been wanting to say something for awhile, and...you're beautiful even when you're crying."
How can I be angry with someone like that?