- Written by Anonymous
My husband has two wives. The first is the woman he met and fell in love with. The woman he laughs with, has fun with and enjoys life with. Everyone loves that woman. She has a light inside her. She is vibrant, energetic and passionate about life.
She was here during the week. She would get excited for her husband to get home from work, so they could catch up and hang out. She would ask about his day, remembering and caring about certain projects he is working on and different dynamics within his team. She would suggest they go for a walk. She would tell him about the friends she caught up with and plans she had made for their child, to help with his development. She would make him laugh. He would say “you seem better”. They would arrive home from their walk to a clean house, where she cooks a healthy dinner. She puts the baby down to sleep with a loving kiss and snuggles up to her husband on the couch. They are so grateful for each other and their lovely life.
But my husband married two women. He woke up in bed this morning with his other wife. This woman wakes up tired. Not "sleepy" tired. In fact, she struggles to sleep. This is bone-deep, muscle aching, makes you want to cry, sheer exhaustion. She wakes with a dullness behind her eyes. She walks, somehow, to the baby's cries. She stands over her tiny baby wondering “how will I muster the strength to pick you up?”, let alone get through another long, dark day.
Her husband helps as best he can. He changes the baby, dresses the baby and feeds him a bottle. But his wife is a bitch, filled with an overwhelming, irrational rage. Watching him dress their baby, she internally screams “why the fuck would you choose that outfit???” Watching him struggle to feed the baby, she demeaningly says “just let me do it” and snatches the baby away. Staring down at her baby she telepathically tells him “your dad is useless!”
Her husband tries to make jokes and be playful. But she just stares at him blankly, wondering: “WHY CAN'T YOU SEE I'M STRUGGLING?” and filled with an irrational jealousy: “why aren't you struggling?”
He gets home from work to a messy house; an upset, overtired, under-stimulated baby; and his wife sitting on the couch in grotty maternity clothes, milk stained and covered in spew. They won't chat or catch up or cuddle. Dinner isn't prepared. She won't ask how his day was; she doesn't care. He won't ask how her day was. He is scared.
My husband married two different women, and we never know which one he will wake up with.