On Being a Jerk and Trying to Stop

So far December is not looking good for getting pregnant.  When I arrived back here on Wednesday Z was sick as a dog.  Then on Thursday both T and I came down with a new cold.  Kissing while you can’t breathe through your nose is hard enough; sex is just not a good time.  The gods must really be conspiring against us because on top of all that Z had a cold sore.  We have been together for 12 ½ years and he gets a cold sore two or three times annually.  I’ve never gotten one and am always extremely careful when he does.  Of course, now that I’ve written it on the internet I’ll have one by the end of the week.  Back to Wednesday night, I don’t think Z would have gone for it even if he was perfectly well.  The poor guy was so happy to see T and me at the airport and I was a total jerk to him. 
Unsurprisingly, travel is really hard for me.  I’d taken a Dramamine, which prevents me from puking on the plane, but also turns me into a terrible monster.  At the airport Z went from acting like an excited puppy to telling me he was scared of me in about two minutes.  I crushed the good mood right out of him.  And when we did get home I picked apart every little thing that was wrong with the house.  He was so excited for me to see the bathroom we had renovated.  I didn’t have the good grace to tell him I love it (which I do), but pointed out all the things that were wrong with it.  I was pissed he’d done some damage to a cast iron skillet (they rock, but they do require upkeep).  I was annoyed there wasn’t any whole milk in the house for the baby (my fault as much as his, I forgot to remind him to get some).  So when we got into bed and I unromantically told him I wanted to get it on because I have tunnel vision when it comes to getting knocked up he told me to jump in a lake.  Looking back on it, I would have done the same thing.  If I had been nice to him I bet he would have rallied his sick self and done it for me.  And forget what I could have gotten from him had I been a nice person, I should have been good to him because I love him. 
I’m angry at myself for only seeing his faults and just glossing over all the wonderful stuff about him.  It’s really been on my mind since we got home.  On Friday T and I were both big fat messes.  Z came home a little early and took the boy off my hands so I could take a NyQuil, veg on the sofa, and just feel like shit.  After we got the boy down to sleep he ran out to the store in the snow to get eggs for breakfast the next morning, throat drops for me, and ibuprofen for the baby.  Unbeknownst to me he grabbed the list I had started and got everything on it.  The next morning he told me with much pride how he had to tear the place apart to find the right flavor of Ricola because he knew how pissed I would be if he came home with the wrong kind.  I was already quietly pissed because he got the wrong olive oil and canola oil.  I really hate this word, but I thought, “Why am I being such a bitch?”  He was genuinely being kind to me, we had discussed canola oil the day before and I wasn’t specific about what I wanted, and he was being nice by getting olive oil, and for him to be that proud for finding the right flavor of Ricola?  Clearly that illustrates he is always braced for my criticism.  When it comes to what he does for me why can’t I just say thank you and leave it at that? 
For the rest of Saturday Z let me rest and took care of T.  And I successfully enjoyed how wonderful he was without tearing him to pieces in my mind.  I don’t know if he felt my sincere appreciation or not, but even though I was pretty damn sick I had a good day because I was happy.  Why is it so easy to take each other for granted?  Why can’t I just appreciate what he is rather than being frustrated by what he isn’t?  Why is it so rare for me to remember to cut him a break?  He’s a good guy and I’m lucky to be his wife.  He deserves better from me.  Please feel free to smack me upside the head next time you see me to help me remember this.  And while I think I missed the boat on conceiving in December there isn’t any reason we can’t have fun practicing for the rest of the month…
T and the most patient cat in the world.   

My boys on this snowy morning.  I asked Z to read the post and give his OK before I published because I talked about sex.  “I wasn’t explicit or anything, but I definitely acknowledge we do it.” I told him.  “Um, we have a son,”  he said.  “I think the cat is out of the bag.”
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2 thoughts on “On Being a Jerk and Trying to Stop

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