Breaking.

The Husband is coming back from his 2-week affair in England tomorrow, and I can honestly say that I’m a little worried about it.

Something changed in me while he was gone.  All I heard about were the amazing parties he went to and the fabulous meals he had and how great it was to see his old friends and down a pint or six at the local pubs.  He spent 14 days in England, and never once had a night in.  Not once.

When he’s home, he’s too busy working to do anything with me.  Leaves for work at 7:00 in the morning, gets home around 6:30, and sits in his recliner all night working on his laptop.  I cook dinner, he gives the baby a bath, and I go to bed.  Or he cuts the lawn or plays Bob the Builder and works on the deck extension.  That’s it.  That’s my pathetic and boring life.  Do I mind?  No, not really.  I get extremely anxious in the city at night – there are too many crazies lurking in the shadows or sitting at the stoplight next to me.  At home, I’m safe.

But all his jabbering about the great nights he just had makes me wonder if I’m missing something.  He never takes me out.  The last time we were out without Mason was last November, nearly 7 months ago.  Yet he stars in his own production of Limey Bastard Dad Gone Wild when he’s away from me.

Have our lives gone in such different directions?  Sadly, I’m starting to think so.  I don’t miss the late nights and the horrendous hangovers and my coat smelling like stale cigarette smoke for a week.  I thought he felt the same way; but listening to him go on and on and on about what a great time he’s having while I sit home cleaning up baby vomit and picking up dog crap just pisses me off.

I want to escape the mundane details of my life sometimes, too.  But I can’t.  I have a child to look after and he is the most important thing in the world to me.

Nothing has changed for The Husband since we had the baby.  Nothing.  He’s still going to be in a weekly shooting league this summer.  He’s still going to be on a bowling team this fall (every Wednesday night from September through May!!!).  He still walks away from the dinner table without giving the cleanup or the baby’s entertainment or my happiness a second thought. Or even a first thought, for that matter.

But I wanted to go on an overnight bus trip to Sault St Marie at the end of the month; and both he and my parents laid a tremendous guilt trip on me.  IT’S ONE F**KING NIGHT, PEOPLE!!!!!  *I* want to sleep in a bed by myself, made up with clean sheets that a maid put there.  *I* want to get dressed in the morning & not have my pants covered in dog hair 15 minutes later.  *I* want to read a book and listen to my ipod and watch a movie from start to finish.

Why can’t I have that?  Why can’t I do something I want to do, on my own?  Why does he get to have all kinds of fun without me; but I can barely go to the toilet without him and/or the baby?

I don’t know.  I’m just tired of being taken for granted, I guess.  I’m the one who knows how to hold Mason when he’s overtired or what songs to sing when he can’t sleep or how many poofy snacks he can eat at a time.  And I love that I can do all that.

And I suppose I could just throw the baby at him and say, “here, you deal with him for a change”.  But I want him to WANT to spend time with his son.  With me.  In the life that I thought we were building together.  Yet I realize that we’re not partners.  He doesn’t see us as equals.  He sees me as less, when he notices me at all.

He makes me feel very insecure, like a tiny little fragment of my former self.

Like I’m broken yet again.