She's an emotional girl

So after my freak out post Monday, I spend a beautiful, idyllic Tuesday out at the land with my husband and daughters. I came home to a chaotically disorganized house with my exhausted husband. And I hit a wall.


After walking around so much and standing up way too much, my back ached and my hips hurt and when I walked it felt like my body was just going to shatter into little pieces. And my husband (who had worked nights and only slept three hours) made the mistake of saying he was tired and had no patience.


You know in movies how there's that needle-scratching-the-record-player noise? I actually heard that in my brain. And I think the old brain then said 'you've gotta be effing kiddin' me!' Not out loud...I don't use that language, out loud. (well not often...and definitely not in front of the kids)


I shed a few silent tears while fixing Little m her night time cup of milk. Hubby slept sitting up on the couch. I may or may not have then unloaded and loaded the dishwasher entirely too loud. We finished getting the kids to bed and every time he spoke to me or asked me a question I may or may not have been really short and snippy. He came to bed after laying Little m down. Little d was asleep also. I was watching something stupid on TV that I can't even remember now. And I just knew he was going to say 'love-you-goodnight' and roll over. And I may or may not have been seething angrily in anticipation about this. {Because we all know it is a cardinal sin to go to sleep when your wife is angry!}


But instead he tried making small talk. I gave a few snippy answers. And he gave up and just laid there quietly. So then--because I'm really good at it--I started crying. And he said "what's wrong?" Just a simple quiet concerned question.


And I nearly bit his head off. I ranted about the house and not wanting to live in such a pigsty and how I never have the energy to clean anything and how I spent two days doing miniature loads of laundry (thanks to the washer on loan from my parents that is not capable of spinning out two pairs of jeans*) and mountainous loads of dishes and look--just look--at the sad mess the kitchen is still in not to mention that I spent 30 minutes trying to clean the pantry but my back ache and heartburn were so bad I couldn't bend over anymore, and speaking of backs, I'm hobbling around because it hurts so bad and I can't sleep between the raging heartburn and the inability to breath and the having to pee every five seconds and he's working for the next eight EIGHT! days and nights straight and there's no end in sight and and and...


We went back and forth a little--me being mostly mad that he can't physically be in two places (or three) at once. And him getting a little peeved that I won't let him finish a sentence. An exchange that ended in me sniveling and snotty amid piles of tissues laying on my left side (because God forbid I lay on my right and cause the fire that is my esophagus to explode from my eyes).


And he says. Are you ready? Are you ready to hear how amazing this man is that I married? He says, "if I rub your back do you think it will help?"


God bless him. God bless him for dealing with these crazy pregnancy hormones. (okay maybe they are not entirely blamed on pregnancy.) And God bless him for his amazing backrubs.

*Don't think I am ungrateful. My parents had a spare washing machine in their barn for a backup when theirs crapped out. And they are letting us use it. And we were going to have toorder a new one, but my brilliant dad fixed ours!! So now we aren't out that money!! I have the best parents ever!