I neglect my poor husband. I admit it. I am not proclaiming this as some delicious declaration or a form of feminist propaganda, but more of a statement that is said with a shame that warrants anonymity. So, here I go, “My name is Kate, and I…have abandoned my husband (too dramatic, and not enough passing off of the responsibility)…am a kid-oholic (true, but not self-loathing enough)…am the antithesis to the Proverbs 31 woman (true, and a little bible plug might just be my only saving grace.)” I am not proud, I am just an honest failure.

The truth is, I kind of like my husband, when I am not viewing him as a varsity player in our two-person game of parenting chicken (See Post 6). The problem is those kids we keep having that have left me in a fog so thick that I have trouble remembering when romance was more than Netflix and a frozen pizza. And of course, there is the issue of time, as we have discussed the time-sucking talents of our toddlers. In my household, we’ve gone so far as to save time by dropping the “I” in “I love you.” You know…the half asleep “Love ya.” you murmur before passing out from chronic exhaustion (a.k.a. parenting). I somehow imagine that this simplified version is either an act of symbolism of the loss of ourselves (Get it? No “I”.), or a passing off of the responsibility (Love? You!…as in “you do it.”) Either way, he deserves that I.

Since when did husband neglect become a more socially acceptable version of that forgotten family pet? You know the folks who have that precious little puff ball, with a name like Prince or something equally as defining. And while they swear that the pedestal will remain once little junior arrives, by the time they trade out the 0-3 month onesies, the king of the castle is now left to find his own food, ungroomed and feral. So of course he is going to hiss at me when I get in his space?

So before I leave you with this confession full of sad excuses, implying my desire for your acceptance, please…hold the posts. Instead, join me in a recent experiment I have been conducting. For the past few days, every time I am stressed out, I kiss my husband. And if HE is the cause of my chaos, all the more reason to go for the smooch. I figure it has to help remind me that HE was once the one I displayed in wallet size to anyone who pretended to care. HE was the one I looked forward to kissing goodnight. HE was the one I wrote a little note for when I packed his lunch (yes…I actually did that). And even if it doesn’t do what I intend it to…at least he might stop hissing at me when I come around.