completely apart.
“Alex, please, let me help you with that,” Blake huffs at me after asking for what must be the twentieth time today. The clanking of the dishes as I stack them reminds me of the uncharacteristically quiet breakfast I just experienced. Well, not true. We’ve been having a lot of silent meals lately. The girls still have their stories and usual high-pitched banter, but there’s been an unusual lack of conversation between Blake and I.
My brand new, unimproved husband. Brand new sucks.
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.” Grabbing the last plate, I throw the fork on top of it and set it on top of the others. I can tell he just rolled his eyes, but I don’t feel like fighting, so I ignore it.
Grabbing the stack of plates off of our brand new kitchen table, I silently carry them into our brand new kitchen, in our brand new house. While I do, my mind’s bombarded with the same thought over and over. What the hell is his problem?
Rinsing the dishes in our brand new sink, I find myself lost in my own thoughts. As the warm water cascades over them, removing all remnants of our tension loaded first meal of the day, Blake makes his way into the kitchen, setting the glasses of orange juice and milk right beside the sink. He leans against the counter, right next to me, and crosses his arms, staring at me the entire time. I can feel the green lasers being shot at my head and I fight the instinct to punch him.
“What?” I ask, staring into the sink. As the eggs circle around the drain, my thoughts are drawn to our relationship. Circling around and around. Going nowhere.
He continues his unyielding glare. I can feel my blood pressure rising, which isn’t a good sign. It’s been happening a lot lately. He continues to watch me for a couple of seconds before pushing himself off of the counter. “Nothing, Alex.” He forcefully runs his hand through his hair and lets out a deep sigh before walking out of the room without saying another word.
What the hell is going on?
What the hell has been going on?
We had been one of those annoying perfect couples that I love to make fun of up until a month ago. But these last few weeks, something’s changed. I know it’s not the girls, or work, or the house. Blake seems only increasingly agitated at me . And he won’t talk to me about it.
Welcome to my brand new life.
I shake my head in frustration. I want to scream my head off . I want to run up to him, push him, shake him, smack him on the arm…whatever it takes to get him to talk to me. But, I don’t. I just let the frustration simmer in my heart, heating my nerves and raising my blood pressure.
Letting out my own sigh, I finish rinsing off the dishes, and decide to leave them in the sink. I’m just too tired to put them in the dishwasher right now. I’ve been tired a lot lately, which is really weird considering I’m only eighteen weeks pregnant. None of my other pregnancies affected me this way. Wiping my fingers with the dishtowel, I throw it on the sink and move on to my next set of chores. I’m exhausted, but I have to get to them before the girls get home, or they’ll never get done. Resigning to this fact, I head off quickly, hoping to be able to squeeze in a nap afterwards.
Swiping my hands along the top of my yoga pants, the only type of pants I seem to want to wear these days, I shuffle my way across the living room. Harlow’s getting really tired of these babies. She actually told me I couldn’t wear them to work anymore, even after I explained that I’d already bought at least ten pair. So, in an effort to make her happy , I traded up for a pair of baggy sweat pants. Now, I get to wear my trusty ol’ yoga pants to the office as much as I want.
I laugh an evil laugh silently to myself. She’s so easy.
Once I’m inside the laundry room, I raise my hand to flip on the light switch. Nothing happens. I try flipping it again, but still nothing. Shit.
Well, I’m
“Alex, please, let me help you with that,” Blake huffs at me after asking for what must be the twentieth time today. The clanking of the dishes as I stack them reminds me of the uncharacteristically quiet breakfast I just experienced. Well, not true. We’ve been having a lot of silent meals lately. The girls still have their stories and usual high-pitched banter, but there’s been an unusual lack of conversation between Blake and I.
My brand new, unimproved husband. Brand new sucks.
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.” Grabbing the last plate, I throw the fork on top of it and set it on top of the others. I can tell he just rolled his eyes, but I don’t feel like fighting, so I ignore it.
Grabbing the stack of plates off of our brand new kitchen table, I silently carry them into our brand new kitchen, in our brand new house. While I do, my mind’s bombarded with the same thought over and over. What the hell is his problem?
Rinsing the dishes in our brand new sink, I find myself lost in my own thoughts. As the warm water cascades over them, removing all remnants of our tension loaded first meal of the day, Blake makes his way into the kitchen, setting the glasses of orange juice and milk right beside the sink. He leans against the counter, right next to me, and crosses his arms, staring at me the entire time. I can feel the green lasers being shot at my head and I fight the instinct to punch him.
“What?” I ask, staring into the sink. As the eggs circle around the drain, my thoughts are drawn to our relationship. Circling around and around. Going nowhere.
He continues his unyielding glare. I can feel my blood pressure rising, which isn’t a good sign. It’s been happening a lot lately. He continues to watch me for a couple of seconds before pushing himself off of the counter. “Nothing, Alex.” He forcefully runs his hand through his hair and lets out a deep sigh before walking out of the room without saying another word.
What the hell is going on?
What the hell has been going on?
We had been one of those annoying perfect couples that I love to make fun of up until a month ago. But these last few weeks, something’s changed. I know it’s not the girls, or work, or the house. Blake seems only increasingly agitated at me . And he won’t talk to me about it.
Welcome to my brand new life.
I shake my head in frustration. I want to scream my head off . I want to run up to him, push him, shake him, smack him on the arm…whatever it takes to get him to talk to me. But, I don’t. I just let the frustration simmer in my heart, heating my nerves and raising my blood pressure.
Letting out my own sigh, I finish rinsing off the dishes, and decide to leave them in the sink. I’m just too tired to put them in the dishwasher right now. I’ve been tired a lot lately, which is really weird considering I’m only eighteen weeks pregnant. None of my other pregnancies affected me this way. Wiping my fingers with the dishtowel, I throw it on the sink and move on to my next set of chores. I’m exhausted, but I have to get to them before the girls get home, or they’ll never get done. Resigning to this fact, I head off quickly, hoping to be able to squeeze in a nap afterwards.
Swiping my hands along the top of my yoga pants, the only type of pants I seem to want to wear these days, I shuffle my way across the living room. Harlow’s getting really tired of these babies. She actually told me I couldn’t wear them to work anymore, even after I explained that I’d already bought at least ten pair. So, in an effort to make her happy , I traded up for a pair of baggy sweat pants. Now, I get to wear my trusty ol’ yoga pants to the office as much as I want.
I laugh an evil laugh silently to myself. She’s so easy.
Once I’m inside the laundry room, I raise my hand to flip on the light switch. Nothing happens. I try flipping it again, but still nothing. Shit.
Well, I’m
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