I blame it on the heat and the pain. We were having a heat wave in the DC area and being only 2 hours away, we had some of it, too. Between the humidity and the heat, the pain and being at the end of my pregnancy, I think I can claim insanity.
It was nearing dinner time and I had to do some dishes before I could get dinner started. With the heat lingering in the house, I've been avoiding the kitchen and cooking is very low on my priority list. We've been eating leftovers from the party and sandwiches, so as not to heat up the house anymore than it already is. Anyway, doing dishes, I put my hand inside one of the glasses to wash it and it broke and sliced my hand in 3 spots. All I saw was a dark red patch of blood spreading over my fingers and I started to feel a little nauseous. I'm not normally squeamish when it comes to blood, but I think the pregnancy and the heat and the pain had something to do with it. I stood there with my hand in the sink trying to steady myself and picking up the broken pieces. I didn't want to call too much attention to myself because then the girls would come running and see and start in on "Lemme see! Lemme see! I wanna see! "
I asked Oldest to go find Daddy and I had envisioned him getting the medicine and band-aids to wrap my finger up. I don't know why I thought this, when I know full well that he is the queasy one when it comes to blood. I grabbed a paper towel and wrapped my hand, then went to go get the medicine. I knew it was on my nightstand and it wasn't there. Checked the bathrooms, nothing. Asked Oldest if she knew where it was, nope. By now I was starting to cry from the pain and my husband tells me I don't need to cry about the medicine. I stared at him thinking he was such an insensitive clod thinking I was crying over medicine and not the actual pain.
I told him he would need to cut up the chicken for me since I had such a bad cut and his response? "Do we have to have this for dinner?" Again, I stared at him and through tears, told him to get out of the kitchen. I said he was an asshole and the minute it came out of my mouth, I regretted it. I was thinking it in my head and didn't mean for it to come out. I was not in my right head, and let me repeat-- it was the heat, it was the broken air conditioner, it was the pain, it was the pregnancy, it was the blood!! It wasn't me!!
I made the dinner and threw it in the oven. I told Hubby he had to make the salad and then I went outside with my mom for a walk around the gardens.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Hubby snapped a little too easily at the kids and we ate dinner without the usual chatter. Afterwards, with the kids watching TV and mom in her room, the husband and I talked. He told me he didn't appreciate what I called him and I told him I was sorry. I also told him that I felt like he was being insensitive and that I wasn't crying for some stupid medicine but because it frigging hurt! He apologized. We kissed and made up and all is well again.
I know that sometimes marriage is not all hearts and flowers and sometimes you have some very real, ugly moments when you think negative thoughts about your husband or wife. Usually you bite your tongue and it goes away and then in those rare moments ( for me, anyway) it actually comes out of your mouth before you can stop it. The key thing, though, is to talk about it afterwards and say you're sorry. Don't let it fester and grow bigger and bigger into something that can't be fixed. I am genuinely sorry I said that, because I know my husband would never say such a thing like that to me. I share this because I wanted to say that we have our rough moments, too, and we say bad things without meaning to. It can happen anytime, anywhere, but as long as you take the time to say you're sorry and to forgive and forget, things will be alright.