- About Jashuat
- Foodie Alert!
You know. Husbands are really shit. They do the darndest things and are like the biggest kid you’ll ever have. They give you a million and two ideas on the different ways you could be going about your usual shit (and thereby propelling your shit status into the non-shit hemisphere high up in the milky way with their perfect suggestions).
BUT the moment you sweetly suggest they take over said task (only because they’re so devastatingly awesome), they immediately declare that they’ve got the best wife on earth who couldn’t have handled things any better.
The bloody turncoats.
They’re on their iPads at night till the wee hours (their self-enforced itty bitty alone time) and the moment you snuggle up to them for some deep, loving conversations about life (FINALLY! A chance for the mama brain to progress beyond conversations with a toddler on why a half bitten banana cannot possibly be put back together again because it’s gone. Just gone), their eyes suddenly glaze over, just a second away from hitting dreamland. HECK, you could have been talking midway to them when suddenly, a wave of snore hits you like a runaway truck and you realize that your beautiful partner has well and truly hit the sack. While you were talking. Still Talking. To him.
And then, there was the time when you were five months pregnant with HIS child, a little unsure about the weight you’re putting on, wondering about your attractiveness when he remarks that his pants are getting tight. You look at him, and indeed, he’s been piling on the weight, and you think to yourself, “aww, my man is trying to make me feel better in his own little way.” Then the UNGRATEFUL little cad masquerading as your husband (or so you hoped) looks directly at you and smirks, “Hey! You’re getting fat too, and it’s not just the tummy!” before guffawing with laughter.
Now, which insensitive brat just entered a no-go area, saying whatever he wants about a woman’s weight? Oh right, it’s YOUR husband. The one you’re stuck with for eternity. That’s what you swore, right?
Where in the world is that gorgeous, deadly romantic whom you dated, who lovingly whispered at the most perfect of perfect moments that you were the best thing that ever happened to him? Who declared with bursting pride that he must have used up a lifetime of luck in order to be with you.
Of course, this is now the very same guy who goes around telling you and your mutual friends that YOU were the one who chased after him relentlessly, declaring your undying love. That there was no way he could have rejected your aggressive, lovelorn advances, not after the pleading and longing way you looked at him all those times.
The bloody liars. Do they honestly believe that the more they recite their own concocted story, it actually becomes real? Urgh, that’s probably why they’ll always be our biggest kid huh?
And who can forget the countless times he nonchalantly farts in your face, the smell so toxic you swore you were delivered on an express train to hell? When you protest at the inhumane treatment you’re receiving, he cites research that smelling farts prevents cancer; and all he really wishes is for you to live a longer, healthier life. Can you fault a guy for loving his wife thus much?
“CAN YOU?” He exclaims in mock incredulity.
Good grief! A lifetime together, did I really just promise that?
And yet, for all his grossness, quirks and laziness, you know that the essence of this man hasn’t actually changed all that much. That you still love him in spite of it all. Perhaps, you love him even more.
For even though you’ve been piling on the weight in your pregnancy, and he happily declares just as much, at the same time, he gently murmurs in your ears that you’re the most beautiful woman on earth. A woman made even more beautiful for you’re carrying a new life within you. A new life created between the both of you.
And for all thirty plus years of his life, he, who can’t be bothered to remember anyone’s birthday including his own, actually remembers yours and the kids. And your wedding anniversary. He books restaurants and plans holidays and writes an annual love letter to you. (well, technically only because you forced him to and threatened terrible consequences if you don’t receive a letter a year, but let’s not focus on technicalities, shall we?) That’s awesomely sweet, even if somewhat engineered lol.
He asks if the both of you should introduce formula feeding or sleep train the kid, worried that you’re not getting enough rest. In his newly minted role as daddy and husband, he struggles with your struggles, not knowing what the best way forward is. He offers suggestions that you aren’t quite ready to accept, but you know he is trying to provide the most supportive environment he can for you and bubs. And you love him for that.
Even though he doesn’t shoot down his mother who makes remarks that smack of a putrid combination of traditions and sexism at times, “You should do more housework, you’re the woman right? What do you do at home all day other than taking care of the kid?” he urges you to bear with it. He is filial; it is a virtue, and you cannot wholeheartedly fault him for that even though it irks you, pains you and angers you. But he knows your pain, and he supports you.
Despite his mother’s words, thankfully he does not share her views and helps with childcare duties. He does his share of the housework (well, you gotta kick his ass sometimes, but at least he gets moving!) and changes your newborn’s diapers. He learnt to grapple with his own insecurity about holding a fragile little being and bathed the baby, a little psychological barrier that you yourself have yet to cross.
When sharing food, he orders them without chilli even though you heard him once announce that char kway teow without chilli can never be delicious. Because you don’t take spicy. You pretend not to know his little sacrifices and accommodating ways, but really, you do.
So as much as you like to throttle your husband sometimes, you gotta admit that the years of companionship has formed this beautiful, fine little balance, hasn’t it?
So thank you hubby, for cracking jokes at my expense. It keeps my mind agile while crossing swords with you. Who needs mahjong (or enemies for that matter) when I’ve got you to keep dementia at bay?
But seriously, thank you for being you. For keeping it real. For helping out where it counts. For moving your butt when I kick it, and for kicking mine when I’m slacking too. We may not be the perfect insta couple, but what we’ve got here, in spite of the small bickers and daily jibes, are real and beautiful. So Happy Father’s Day Big Honey!
And for my fellow ladies out there, you know you still love your guy in spite of his shittiness. So honour him subtly by posting this, while not fogetting to kick slapping his butt a little at the same time. It’s no fun to only wax lyrical yeah?
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