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"What do you expect me to do? I'm taking care of this family. This is how I feed all of us. Why can't you understand that." I exasperated, rubbing my hand down my face.
My wife and I are bumping heads and arguing for what feels like the thousandth time this week, and I'm beyond over it.
"I expect you to make sacrifices, Jack. I'm here everyday, with the fucking baby, and you're working all day. I'm tired."
"You don't think I'm tired, too? As soon as I come home, I take over. From cleaning the house, to changing every shitty diaper. You're here all fucking day, and not shit is done. I told you I'd pay for us to get a nanny, to help us out, but you don't want that. I even tried to get you to go back to school, but you shoot every fucking thing down. So, what the fuck do you want from me? What is it, that you want me to do? I go to work every fucking day, come home, and do everything I can to make shit work, and all I get, is pushback, and attitude. Kiya is almost one, and we still doing this back and forth shit." I huffed, trying my best not to raise my voice.
I love my wife.
I genuinely do, but she's so got damn frustrating.
I'm pulling the weight of taking care of business, and our home, and trying to be the best father I can be, but it's like that's not enough.
She stopped working during our first year of marriage, and wanted to be a stay at home wife.
Cool. No problem.
Now we got a baby a couple years later, and she wants to be a stay at home mom.
Cool. No problem.
Even with that, I still do my part raising our daughter, cause it's not just on her.
I'm just as responsible.
But what's not cool, is coming home, and shit is all out of order.
Kiya needs a fresh diaper, shes running low on formula, haven't had a bath yet, and I still have to figure out what we're doing for dinner.
I don't know what the fuck she's doing, at home, but it's like I'm pulling her weight and mine.
This supposed to be a partnership, yet I'm the only one putting in effort, but still getting told I need to make sacrifices.
