duh

My husband, the mysterious M, read my blog last night. I'd invited him to read it on several occasions back when I started it, but he never seemed that interested. Last night, though, after a lengthy discussion regarding communication and connectedness (it sounds so much more grown-up when couched in these terms) he decided to read.
And afterward, he turned to me with a kind of hurt look on his face and said that anyone reading it would think he's not a very nice guy. And you know what, he has a point. Not that he's not a nice guy, because he is, he is. But that I have written down incidents that do not cast him in the bestest of lights. Why have I done this?
I think I have been seduced by the relative anonymity (funny, as blog is read by mom and a very select group of longtime friends) of the medium and used the forum as a diary. And what do you do in a diary? You complain. You bitch and moan and write from the crankiest part of your soul. The part that doesn't get enough air, thank god. And so M who is not here all day long becomes a whipping boy for all of my frustration and despair when my head is melting and the baby's crying. It's not fair, but I blame him for this, this, situation in which I find myself: bored out of my skull, domestically challenged, maternally inadequate.
And yet so not the full picture. I have chosen to be at home for this precious little slice of time that even now is slipping away so quickly it makes my heart stop. That baby is my very life. And that husband is the only one I'll share it with.
I love you. You know that. Duh!