To my ex mother-in-law:
Your precious first-born son, the one you think is so perfect, the one you think is the most wonderful being on the planet?
He's actually the most selfish, inconsiderate, immature person I have ever met in my life.
You're part of the reason we split up. YOU raised him to be that way.
Maybe you aren't such a great mom after all.
I don't know what I did to get so lucky, but you are the best thing to ever happen to me. You have put up with so much, and you have been such a rock for me. I don't say it enough, and you probably need to hear it more, but without you, I would never have made it this far. You are a special man, and a great dad, and I thank you for standing by us, when you could easily have walked away. I have always said your worst quality was your ridiculously poor memory, but on second thought, it is probably what has kept us together for so long!
Honey, I really truly don't mind your little porn habit. Sometimes you find stuff that's really hot, and on the rare occasion when all the stars align and The Boy goes to sleep early, it's fun to watch it together. But why, by all that's holy, do you have to set your stupid filesharing programs looking for the stuff every single night? Don't you know I have insomnia? I can't always go back to sleep after The Boy nurses, so I get up to read/update my blog and just have some alone time at the computer without someone hitting me with Duplos or shoving Dr. Seuss books into my spine. I Do Not Want to read my email at less than dial-up speeds because you are downloading five thousand little clips from some obscure butt-fucking video, okay? Stop. It. Download the crap during the freakin' day while you are at work. Chances are I won't have any time at all then to be on the computer anyway, because I'll be too busy cooking, potty training, doing laundry, cleaning the damn house, and removing the fucking books from my spine to even sit down. Give me a freakin' break, already.
I hate your computers. I don't believe or even care that they are part of your job anymore. Honey, you sell computers. You install software. You don't write code, so why, why, why do you need the latest and greatest for your job? I hate that you have to have dual core whatever chips, and whatever-the-fuck front side bus speeds, and more RAM than God in the desktop. I hate that you have to have a really expensive laptop every couple of years. I really, really fucking hate from the bottom of my heart that the spiffy end all and be all of laptops that you absolutely HAD to have last year for your birthday, the one that they had on sale at the day after Thanksgiving sale, the one that necessitated my getting up at two a-freakin'-m and going to stand in the long ass line at the local electronics store with our baby wrapped up in the sling and nursing while I stood in line freezing my ass off for about four freakin' hours, was just not good enough and you traded it in less than six months later. Buy your own fucking laptop next year. Better yet, do without.
Oh yeah, and I hate talking about them too. I don't know what all that crap means, and I really don't care. Just let me take care of our child in peace. Talk to me about how things went at work, or world events, or our baby, or anything that's in English.
You are the nicest guy I ever went out with. I knew I got lucky. Your accomodating nature was such a nice change of pace. The fact that I knew I could always rely on you was one of the biggest things that attracted me to you. That, and your bizarre sense of humor that was so scarily like my own. You had confidence then, yet for some reason after three years of marriage, it's gone. Your backbone has softened, you automatically go into defense mode when I ask you a question, and you don't do anything unless I ask you to do it. You hug me and kiss me and tell me you love me everyday, and I know you mean it more than I could possibly know. I love you too, but I want that guy back, the guy I fell in love with. I adored him. I don't know where he went, but I miss him... I miss you...
You saved me. I was on a self-destructive path. You recognized that and were willing to reach out to me. Not only did that start our relationship, but it put an end to what would have proven to be my misery. Maybe you didn't so much save me as help me find the strength to save myself, holding your hand along the way. You were the first person I ever told. When I told you my awful truth, you didn't run. You held me. You let me cry. You wanted to protect me, but you recognized that I needed the strength to protect myself. It was only through your love that I found that strength. I'm terrified to think about what my life would be like if we weren'’t together. I am in awe of you. I am so very thankful for you. I love you.
Just because I work in sales and you work at a job that holds you in one location from 8-5 does not mean that I am your personal errand girl. I AM WORKING!!! Yes, I am in the car. Yes, I drive all over town. Yes, I work out of the house. None of those things mean that I have time to run to the bank for you, run to the post office for you, run to the dry cleaner for you, and most of all, run through the drive thru for you cause you are 'really busy and don't have time to take lunch'!!! You seem to think that I have time to drop everything and do your bidding because I am in the car. Just so you know, I only run those errands for you because I would rather go out of my way than have to listen to you whine when I get home. And you wonder why I am mysteriously NEVER available lately when you call in the middle of the day. Oh, and the text message requests to run errands? Fuck you. No, I didn't forget my phone at home three days straight last week. I just didn't want to run around for you
I know you read true wife confessions. I know that you are looking for mine.
Sometimes I wake up in the night to watch you sleep, and I can'’t breathe because I love you so much. I wish I could tell you, but you don't trust the words, so I know it would only unsettle you to hear me say it. So I keep the house as clean as I can, spend hours cooking your meals, keep your sock drawer full of folded socks and love your child as much as I love my own. I hope it shows half of how much I love you, because I hear your love me when you say "thank you"” so often. You'’re wonderful!
I don't know if I can forgive you for letting me down when our son was born. You wouldn't read any books with me. You refused to go to a Bradley or Lamaze class with me, and you barely paid attention to the hospital based class we did go to. At least, if you did pay attention it didn't show. You obviously didn't learn anything from it. You refused to let me hire a doula because we didn't need it. But then you didn't step up to the plate and deliver. Because when the fucking asshole of an on-call obstetrician pushed a million fucking interventions at me that you knew damned well I didn't want and probably didn't need, you didn't stand up for me. Women in labor are vulnerable. I needed you there to protect me, not to play poker with our friend that stopped by. Not to sleep while I was in the tub trying to deal with the back labor. A back rub would have been nice. Not to eat pizza with your brother in front of me while the damned hospital nurses wouldn't let me eat anything despite the fact that I went without solid food for almost two fucking days. Not to play fucking video games on your GameBoy. I'd like to shove that GameBoy up your ass, you know. When it predictably ended up in a cesarean section for failure to progress, I was in tears and I felt like a fucking failure. I feel like I was raped and everyone stood around watching and no-one called the cops. Including you.