Dear Husband
Dear Husband I'm not sure if you understand my day. I'm not sure if you see the uppies, the tantrums, the nosewiping, the comforting, the on-the-floor playing, the grocery shopping (again), the 'oh-shit-the-iron-broke' moments. I'm not sure you see. I know you say you do. I know you see that I do 'stuff'. But in the busiest time of the day, in the evening when our kitchen is a scurry of activity and I'm somewhat of a mad person, we finally coordinate everyone to sit at the table, you turn to me and ask me if i managed to pick up that thing? Or what happened to marie kondo-ing our house today? Or why is there a truck on the dining room table. Because if you did see. Really looked. You would know that a shower in my day to day routine has become a hot commodity. Time is such a different concept in these early wild years of motherhood. Did I fetch the thing? In the haze of the day I forgot. Mari Kondo? That woman is a Saint. I woul...