Blogging: Cheaper than therapy

We finally had it. The Fight.

You know the one where He steps in a big pile of dog shit when he's stressed about work and says something totally suicidal like, "You wouldn't understand. All you do is stay home with the baby all day."

Yeah, that one.

But there's more. See, long ago in a land Far Away and in the Time Before Motherhood, I had a decent job as a newspaper reporter. Then a not-so-decent job as an editorial assistant (which is Latin for specially trained monkey) at a big newspaper. But I was still bringing in a paycheck and Using My Degree. And that's a good thing, because that mother fucker cost me $45,ooo in college loans.

So while the monthly loan payment was killing us, all was happy and peaceful in the land of Us because all was fair and equal and we could both bitch about the traffic, the rising cost of gas, the no-longer-free-parking situations, and idiot co-workers.

We were both tired and bitchy when we trudged home from work thanks to jackass bosses and had to deal equally with dinner and walking the dogs and getting the laundry done for the next day. And we both could snuggle in bed watching brainless TV before kissing each other good night before turning off the light and spooning until the sun eased itself in through our blinds to wake us for the next round of Bringing Home the Bacon and Paying the Bills.

The whole time I was sure that my time in the World of Income was limited. Sure, I'd spent a small fortune on a degree, but I wanted to become a mother. And in my world, mothers stay home with their kids. My mom stayed home. The Husband's mom stayed home. It just made sense to me. Of course, the horror stories of how much my girlfriends were paying for daycare also factored in to that little equation. I wasn't about to work just to cover the bill and then have $5 bucks left over to put in the bank account each week.

At first, Before Kids, this was not a discussion The Husband wanted to have. In fact, any attempts at said discussion always turned into Round 1 of The Fight to End All Fights. "No way, no how, nuh-uh" was usually how it ended. I'm not sure what the issue was really, but until the magic stick told me I was pregnant, I was going to keep working after kids and we'd have someone in our family watch our children.

Fast forward to Round 2. I was pregnant and suddenly The Husband was crunching the numbers and realizing that pregnancy + work + daycare + cost of living = a deficit. That's right, folks. All our family options were out for watching the coming bundle of joy and I was making enough to make a difference before becoming a mom, but after? We'd be better off financially if I stayed home.

Great. I'd just freelance to make up some of the lost income. I had contacts. I was a good writer. Problem solved. For a little while at least.

I know I'm in the minority here. I've met many successful freelancing work-at-home moms on Twitter, but for some reason I was just not able to balance diapers, making baby food, the endless piles of laundry, and deadlines with much success. So I took a break. Then I started blogging and working on a book. Easy peasy, since the only deadlines I have to deal with are my own.

It's the break that The Husband is not pleased with, especially since it hasn't ended yet. And the writing? Yeah, that doesn't matter since it's not paying and all.

He was having a bad day. I know that. He was stressed out. I understand that. He apologized. Many times over. I accepted. He bought me a Nintendo DSi as a nice way of kissing ass. Awesome. It'll last a hell of a lot longer than flowers...but the irony of him bitching that I waste my time all day and him buying me a personal gaming system is so lost on him. I'm not going to point it out.

But ya know what? It still hurts. And while I wait for time to help the sting fade away, I'm also praying nightly for an agent to "discover" me and get me a Phat advance on my book so I can take the check and shove it in The Husband's face with a very mature, "So there, Asshole. So there."

*No actual husbands were harmed in the writing of this blog post. However, the wife responsible for said blog post may not see the light of day again should said Husband ever decide to start reading said blog.

**This post would be reason #1 I am happy The Husband has no desire to read my blog. Just saying.