To my husband:
I’m sorry I wear moderately dirty clothes over and over again to avoid another load of laundry, leaving them even dirtier and giving you dirtier clothes to wear on repeat. To be fair, I do love putting clothes in the washer; it smells awesome. That’s noticeable by the numerous times I rewash even if it is because I forgot to transfer to the dryer. I just really need the only pair of shorts that fit to be available at all times.
I’m sorry when I do do (ha, do do) laundry the clean clothes sit in a basket for a week waiting for me to redry them and let them sit for another week. Nope; I don’t even have a valid explanation. I just really hate folding and putting away clothes. Next career change, you’ll need a job that calls for slightly rumpled, possibly damp, moderately clean clothes.
I’m sorry when you come in the door, instead of greeting you with a loving hug and kiss, I greet you with a wide eyed crazy lady stare. I can’t help that you come home at the exact point the kids have hit my “time to tap out” button.
I’m sorry when you kiss me in greeting I only slightly turn my head and continue to do the dishes/pick up the house/yell at the kids/make the food/whatever it is I’m doing. It’s important work, my work. Especially if it keeps me occupied enough to tell the kids to handle their own battles, Mommy’s working.
I’m sorry I don’t do my hair and makeup often, or ever. I’m also sorry I expect you to tell me how glorious I am in my sweaty tank top, bleach stained shorts, greasy pony tail and non showered face. Don’t get me wrong, I want to look good for you and I want people to not wonder why we’re together when they see us in public. After getting up 700 times in the night to rub a head, change a diaper, get more milk, pull the blankets over someone (their two hands lose all functionality after 9 PM), turn on a light, turn off a light, take the blankets off someone, change another diaper and a set of sheets, I’m a little tired when I wake up. Frankly, the kids are lucky I can put peanut butter on bread every morning.
I’m sorry I spent all that money on thousands of blind bags for the kids to open instead of buying that sexy or cute new outfit (for me, not the kids – I feel that’s a necessary point to make). Good Lord you have no idea how sorry I am about that decision. I swear, if I step on one more Shopkins or break up one more fight about whose Squishy Pop My Little Pony (what the hell is that??) is who’s, my mind is going to completely detach from me. It’s going to distance itself from being responsible for the things that come out of my mouth.
I’m sorry I sometimes hope you don’t notice me after bedtime. My days are spent making decisions and cleaning and answering exactly 3 million questions I don’t actually have an answer to and deciphering toddler language and trying to keep the peace without disrupting it. I work so hard to have all the housework and Mom work done by bedtime so I have zero responsibilities once I leave their room. Sometimes all I want to do is binge watch Gilmore Girls while binge eating the kid’s popsicles while playing Candy Crush until I run out of lives. It may seem like a lot of things to do at once, but there’s not much thought involved in doing those things. Maybe more importantly, I don’t have to leave my chair or move almost at all from 9 PM until 1 in the morning. Be advised, I said sometimes. If you don’t notice me all the time, your life will get real hard.
I’m sorry I forget that I’m wife as well as mother, and that I was wife first. All day, my thoughts are of you. When I’m making lunch I try not to serve or eat anything you might want when you come home for your lunch break. I try to get things done I know you’ll appreciate. I try to log away funny stories or anecdotes about the kids or what happened in our day because I know it’ll make you laugh. I think about all the things we are going to talk about or do after the kids go to bed almost all day long. I plan our date nights right down to beverages in the early part of almost every day.
Somewhere between the third melt down after no nap and the time they go to bed, though, I lose sight of anything that I’ll have to expend mental or physical energy to do. I love you more than I probably show and I’m so grateful to be your wife. I appreciate absolutely everything you do for us. Maybe I just haven’t learned how to combine our love languages properly. I’ll work on that.
In case you were wondering, sometimes my love language is bringing home a pizza.
Your over-tired, scattered, still in love with you wife.