There was a viral video that came out a couple of years ago in which a woman is complaining to her husband about a problem and was upset because he just kept trying to fix the problem instead of listening to her. It would cut to her husband intermittently, and he would exhaustively plead with her to simply fix the problem and that the solution was so obvious. In the middle of the video, we see that she has a nail stuck in her head, and her husband was trying to get her to stop complaining about the pain and simply remove the nail. They go on to argue about the situation and he finally gives in and “listens” to her talk about the problem some more.
Here, you can just watch it for yourself.
This is a bit sexist, pretty funny, and sadly, painfully true.
My husband is a pretty patient man. He has been there for me through now two pregnancies, two c-sections, and 4 ongoing attempts at child-rearing. It has not and is not pretty.
On Saturday, I had a meltdown that I wish I could blame on hormones, but it pretty much only stems from my own impatience and pettiness for my body to get “back to normal.” (2 weeks postpartum/post-op… seems reasonable, right?) Give me a break, feeling comfortable and somewhat attractive in clothes is a big deal! Anyway, I was complaining that I didn’t have a lot to wear and that I was tired of looking this way and bah blah blah. I cried, you guys. Bryan sat patiently and waited for me to finish blubbering and then calmly responded:
“Ok, lets go get you a couple of things then.”
Like oh ok.
Why do I make things so difficult?
We drove the three minutes it takes to get to Old Navy where they happen to have been running a Mothers’ Day sale with BOGO free t-shirts and 20% off shorts (Which is what I needed the most). I was a happy camper. I feel 100% better knowing that I have a couple of things that actually fit me right now. Just whatever if they will be too big soon. You can take that logic and hit the road, sir. Alls I know is that I have crap to wear now.
Sometimes, the answer really is black and white. Sometimes, we need to shut up, stop talking about the problem, and just freaking fix it.
(Yes, Mom, I know you’ve been telling me this for years.)