I am not Adam Sandler. I have never, and never will follow you to Vegas to put a stop to a terrible decision of yours, and end up serenading you on an airplane in front of hundreds of strangers.
It will never happen, so please stop asking.
Last night when I came to bed, you were snoring and sprawled out taking up 90 percent of the sleeping area. I attempted to move you over to your side but you are freakishly strong when you sleep and thought better of it when you started throwing punches in my general direction. I slept all night in the remaining 10 percent.
In the morning you woke me up by telling me how uncomfortable of a sleep you had. I nodded my head, and attempted to be supportive of your dilemma.
To be clear, this was a complete show; I had no sympathy for you.
I understand you get annoyed with me when I leave my socks in the kitchen. I do not do this out of spite towards you, I swear. I meant to pick them up, I just got distracted.
I would altogether appreciate it if you could refrain from telling your friends that I am a disgusting pig, who does not know how to clean up after himself.
They are socks, not hand grenades.
Yes, I checked out that girl jogging alongside the van 2 months ago when driving home from your parents house.
Please oh please, LET IT GO.
It is not enough that you bring it up every time we see someone jogging, but you now have started telling random strangers about my blunder.
Don’t think I don’t see how you flirt with men to get something you want. Let’s call it even.
I understand what your period is. I am not an idiot.
I would however like to be spared the details of the consistency and breadth that is this plight of yours. Don’t get me wrong, I totally feel for you. That would suck.
The details just kind of gross me out.
I am sorry I fucked up the laundry, and shrunk your favorite shirt. I will never attempt to speed up the laundry process by throwing your clothes in the dryer again…Better yet, I will just leave the laundering to you my love.
You do not have a headache.
You’re a writer, come up with something a little more creative.
I understand you are tired from looking after the kids all day, dealing with the throng of stay-at-home-Mom tasks…But allowing the kids to blow bubbles all over the living room floor, does not count for cleaning the carpet.
I would have rented a steam cleaner, if you had just mentioned it.
You had a bad labour with our son. It was scary, at one point we thought we may lose you. You like to talk to others about the experience, I completely understand. About everything you went through.
Just remember that I was there too.
I saw every wrinkle of pain on your face. I heard every moan and cry. I felt your nails digging into my hand and watched as you were prodded and probed.
I thought I may possibly have to raise our son without you, and I didn’t think that was achievable.
I your husband, the man who vowed to keep you safe at all costs, could not do a damn thing for you. Just be there with you; waiting and praying.
I do not blame you, when the kids are throwing a tantrum. Hell, nobody is faulting you for being a bad mother. So maybe cool it on the passive aggressively accusing everyone in your vicinity of doing so.
Breathe deep and repeat, ‘I am a good Mother, and I know it.’
Please do not allow my younger sister to apply make-up to our son. Something about walking in on my 3 year old boy flaunting lipstick and lackluster blush just rubs me the wrong way.
With this last note being said, you do not have to keep quizzing me on how I would react if one of our children told us they were gay. You know me better than that, and you know I will love them unconditionally; forever and always.
I am so proud of us, of what we have created together.
One time, in an occasion long ago; I told you I would marry you. I did.
I told you that everything would be okay when you were freaking out in your first trimester. It was.
One time we told each other we were ‘stuck together’. We are.
In the best way possible.
These are the confessions of what a wife truly knows about the thoughts that stream through her husband’s mind. And after jotting down these few short notes, that may not be entirely his words, but I know are close; I feel that much more privileged to be with a man such as mine.