Division of Labor

So, I work full time (I am an associate lawyer in a large law firm, so “full time” roughly translates to “I’m sorry, did you think you were allowed to actually LEAVE the building?”) and I have a two-year old. Seriously, I get up at, 5 am to work out. I am tired. All. The. Time.

Last night, I tell my wonderful husband that I am at the end of my rope; I am not coming home until I have completed some much-deserved retail therapy and enjoyed a couple of cocktails with some girlfiends. To his credit, WH happily obliges, and tells me to “have fun” (after asking that I imbibe after the shopping. Drunk shopping, in case you have never done it, is sort of like drunk making out. So fun at the time, but the next morning, you roll over, stare incredulously at the $900 non-returnable Louboutins, and contemplate the poor decisions that result from a couple of glasses of red wine and a shot or two of tequila.)

This morning, I come home from the gym – a sweaty, stinky (and slightly hung-over) mess. All I want to do is take a warm shower and enjoy 10 minutes of blissful silence before the inevitable cries of “Mama! Come in here!” begin. (Which are sure to be followed by cries of “Hey, you, associate! Come in here!” The latter cries are not as cute, but pay a lot more.)

Instead, I walk in the door, peel off my ipod, and the WH greets me warmly - and kindly informs me that the kid’s lunch must be made (a task that I usually complete the night PRIOR – you know, after I have fed the kid, bathed the kid, read “Quick as a Cricket” to the kid for the ten millionth time, and put the kid to sleep). Said greeting prompted the following conversation:

Me: You make it.

WH: That is not fair! I did everything last night so you could shop! Everything! – I picked up the kid, I went to the grocery store, I cleaned the kitchen…

Me: Well, pal, sometimes, the division of labor just isn’t fair. Like that time I pushed a nine-pound baby out of my body while you texted everyone about it.

WH: (Sighs wearily.) The kid is 2. How long do you think you are going to use that particular excuse?

Me: Until the end of time.

So, he made the lunch. And, somehow, was not appreciative when I texted him later to advise him that this particular problem (having to make the lunch in the morning) could have been avoided had he just made the lunch the night before. Like I always do.

He scoffed at my advice. Fine. If he wants to dole out the advice, next time, he can push the nine-pound baby out of his body.