Are you keeping score?

There has been a lot of talk about the ‘man-cold’.  We all know how that goes. Your man gets sick and he suddenly becomes more infantile than a newborn baby. All snotty nosed, and whining and you’re not even really sure what’s wrong with them because they seem unable to articulate even the simplest of things without using the ‘I’m dying whiny voice’.  They stay in bed all day and whine for medicine and drinks with bendy straws and blankets etc. Big freakin babies, right?

You know what no one really talks about…. The ‘mom-cold’. Children-they are like little high-tech germ transfer devices. It’s natural to get sick when you have kids around. And for the like what… the fourth time this season… I’m sick. And you know what? I turned into a whiny infantile baby. The thing is, I know I’ve been sicker than this before and powered through. I’ve felt worse. I’ve had other maladies that should have stopped me in my tracks and I kept on. Call it martyr syndrome (which I find disgustingly annoying in other people, but I never seem to recognize my own exploits in martyrdom). Call it whatever you want. This time around, I gave in. Me and my medicine head got all Cartmen-esque and said screw you guys, I’m going to bed, and I’m not getting up until I feel like it. The only reason this was possible though? Sgt. Dad. His unemployment has its perks, and he would have made an excellent nurse. I’m seriously thinking he chose the wrong career path.

While I lay in bed coughing up my lungs, and snorting snot and feeling sorry for myself… Sgt. Dad became Mr. Mom. Cooking, cleaning, doing all the things that I should have been doing. And being the obsessive, anxious person that I am… I started a little mental scoreboard in my head. I tallied deeds and chores and jobs and sentiments. Things like… who got up first, who made the coffee, who got the kids up, who cleaned their stubborn non-potty-trained butts, who cooked the last meal, who took out the trash, who washed the last load of laundry, who put away the last load of laundry, who fed the dog, who let the dog out (don’t do it… I know you want to *woof*woof*woof*), who fed the cat, who picked the boys up from school…. OMGosh… I couldn’t stop. Counting and tallying and keeping score. Why? Why the hell would I give myself such a freakin headache on top of the sinus headache that was already thumping its way through my brain like a crappy Kanye West song?

Guilt. That’s why. I have guilt when I lie around and do nothing. When I quit my job to stay home and take care of these kids, I had it in my mind that this is now my job. I still think that. I don’t want to say I’m old fashioned, and we all know I’m no June Cleaver, but Sgt. Dad was bringing home the bacon and I was cooking it. And then this morning- there he was- cooking the bacon. Really. He was. And he made coffee, and he got the twinados up and dressed. And there it was. Guilt- as plain as the snotty nose on my face. And then it began all over again- he had done the dishes, fed the kids, fed the critters, taken out the trash. And what? I had slept, and whined and…. been sick. Nothing I can do about being sick though, right? (Don’t start with the flu shot talk- we’re not going there!)

This scoreboard exists in my head alone. I know that for a fact. Sgt. Dad does not keep score. He does what needs to be done when it has to be done. He doesn’t complain, he doesn’t whine, he doesn’t tally the chores and the household responsibilities. He doesn’t believe I owe him or he owes me. We’ve talked about this. And yet it lingers. It’s my own paranoia and anxiety over not being a good enough wife and mother and I believe whole-heartedly that this imaginary scoreboard is the result of years of being found lacking. It makes me super angry that I’m still holding on to this inferiority after all these years. I would like to place the blame solely on my x, but I’m more pragmatic than that. It’s my own tenacity, my own rabid-dog like tendencies to hold on to things and thoughts and never let them go. This is apparently, my greatest strength and my greatest weakness.

Do you keep score with your significant other? Are you holding on to the past too? How do you stop? Mind you I don’t react well to change (anxiety attacks and such ya know)… I’m starting to understand and see how the past holds us back and how it guides us at the same time. Ending the anti-depressants is providing me with some bit of clarity… amid the brain zaps…

Coffee’s cold ya’ll… time for a refill!

Cheers!