If you know me, you know that I am always first in line to feel sorry for myself. I really do not need anyone to do it for me because I do it myself SO WELL. Garry understands this and refuses to feel sorry for me, ever. No matter what. Ever.
So if I whine about the difficulties of having three kids at home, all day, every day, he merely reminds me that I am 'living the dream, living the dream.'
If I ever express jealousy over his workplace and adult conversation and quiet, cry-free lulls, he merely tells me that I can go back to work, anytime, and if I make enough money he'll stay home and start 'living the dream, living the dream.'
Now, I have never entirely bought any of this but thought that perhaps he might be serious because he does love, love, love his little girls.
But the other day he was sick and chose to stay home from work. Now, our Molly never wakes up happy. She wakes up a little mad at the world, like we tricked her into going to sleep and now that she's up she's furious at us! I was trying to help her through her latest crying fit when Garry rolled over in bed and uttered in disgust, "I should have just gone to work."
AHA! I KNEW IT!!
Sometimes the dream isn't so dreamy.