So, followers of heartbreakage and bastard flea updates, what am I lecturing you all on now? Obviously there’s only so much I can tell you about how to be a Parent of Excellence (and really, if you’re not by now, there’s NO HOPE) so I’ve decided to hold forth and spout wisdom to youse about How To Be A Wife.
Notice the ‘A Wife’ part – not a Good Wife, or indeed an Excellent Wife – just A Wife.
Those of you who have kindly read my previous posts about Marital Strife would do well to think, ‘Hang on a ruddy sec – who is SHE to lecture US about being anything wifely? She is clearly a SHIT WIFE who cannot even keep Stuff from Happening within her marriage! I’m not going to take advice from HER! I’m going to throw rocks at her instead’.
Firstly, please do not throw rocks at me.
Secondly, I think I am EXPERTLY PLACED to lecture on how to be a wife. In recent weeks I have been sorely tested in the area of wife-being, and have come to some very astute conclusions, which, naturally, I want to share with my fellow blogonauts. And in case you are thinking you are immune from Stuff Happening, then please HEED my warning: I thought I was immune too. I thought we were solid. I thought being a Wife meant assuming everything was OK when really, secretly, and quite grubbily, it’s not.
Astute conclusion: to be a Wife you must be constantly suspicious and paranoid about everything your spouse henceforth gets up to, to the point of imagining Extra Stuff Happening just so you can be relieved when it’s patently not. I do not LIKE the Wife I have become. I do not LIKE being suspicious and paranoid. Indeed I did wonder, is this REALLY what wives are like? But now I know – yeah, it so is. Because if I was not suspicious and paranoid then that would mean I didn’t care, right? And I DO care, quite a lot. I care about More Stuff Happening and me not being able to stop it. And sure, the husband has a certain amount of responsibility in that regard, but when you think about it, it must be my fault, right? I took my eye off the ball, I was complacent – I took things for granted, and am now being punished for it. Well, no more – now I am a hideous and sneaky little Wife, doomed to forever suspect her spouse of Stuff, and by being that, surely prevent the Stuff from Happening again.
Another astute conclusion: being wifely means feeling very unattractive and dumpy for a lot of the time. To resent your flab and puddingy midriff and then to feck it all further by eating your own weight in biscuits. To wonder, on a daily – nay, by the minute – basis, why the HECK ANYONE WOULD FIND YOU ATTRACTIVE at all because if you were, IF you had a modicum of allure and beauty, then SURELY the aforementioned Stuff would not have Happened? And to not limit my rock-bottom self-esteem to pure aesthetics, I will just add feeling mean and worthless and unapproachable to that inspiring list as well. For me, being a Wife means being ALL of that. Which, frankly, sucks.
An astute conclusion on a slightly more positive note: well, that may be a lie. Positive notes are rather optimistic. Once Stuff Happens, as a Wife you are expected to carry on as normal. Sure, there are pieces to be picked up, issues to be swept under metaphorical rugs, and heads to be buried in playground sandpits. But there is also housework to do, a baby to manage, and life to live. I am lucky in that I have amazing friends (in real life and online) and a wonderful family to keep me going. However, my duties as a Wife mean that I am denied my own little dramatic collapse. Sometimes my own Stuff is going on in my head and I somehow don’t have the LUXURY of wallowing in a crisis. I would very much like to run away and do some Stuff of my own. But Wives have to just Get On With It. So I’ve been doing just that, albeit with a sick, anxious pit of vipers twisting around my stomach for most of the time that I try my damnedest to ignore.
Marriage is an idealistic institution. It’s a fairy tale. And I have been transformed into the wicked witch. Or the evil stepmother, I haven’t quite decided yet (whoever has the better wardrobe will tip the balance, I reckon). I don’t want to play this role. I want to find a side of Wifeliness that doesn’t involve suspicion, paranoia, mistrust, low self-esteem, mental instability and poison apples.
But for the time being, this is the only way I know how to be a Wife.