The Truth

December 17, 2007

M unintentionally let on yesterday that he had read the blog again.  He was worried that something was wrong that I wasn’t telling him, so he checked to see if I’d blogged about it.  And while it does bug me a little to leave BabyN for that one night, it’s not eating at me.  So I’ve been evaluating whether there really is something bothering me.  I don’t know that anything specific has been causing the mood, other than hormones, but there is something that’s been bothering me.  So M, this one is for you, in case you happen to stop by and read again.

I hate that I’m so bad at this housewife thing.  My mom did a great job at it, and I’d almost even think she likes to cook and clean for other people.  But I can’t pretend that well.  I hate housework and I hate cooking.  I’m awful at both, and I don’t like repeatedly trying things that I repeatedly fail at.  You can only throw out so many home-cooked meals before you just give up and make nothing that didn’t come out of a box.

I want to be good at this.  I want to be like my mother was for me.  I want us to be the ideal family that you just don’t see anymore, the one who eats all their home-cooked meals together at the table while discussing the events of the day, the one who goes to church every Sunday morning and is looked up to as a good Christian family by others, the one who puts even the Brady bunch to shame.  I want us to be the family I grew up in.

But I don’t know how to take us from what we are to that kind of family.  I know it has to start with me doing things I detest doing.  I have to stop letting M take care of me the way he’s been doing.  It means sacrificing my own comfort and things I like.  I think I’m too selfish to do that.

So instead I keep beating myself up over my own selfishness, and I make these great plans to start being a better mother and wife and housekeeper, and then I let my selfishness win out yet again.  And the cycle continues with the ensuing guilt.

This has been bothering me since we got married.  Although I was able to excuse myself from some of the guilt while I was pregnant and truly could not do everything I wanted to do, now I have no excuse.  So M, it bothers me that I am not the person I want to be.  And no amount of reassurance from you is going to make me feel better about being the burden on you that I really am, or take away the guilt of being so weak to give into my selfishness every time.  I guess you can feel better that it really isn’t you, it’s me.

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