I am a passionate human being who puts my heart and soul into everything I do, which makes me a pretty good journalist, but a semi-annoying wife. When I told my husband I was writing this article and asked him what exactly I obsess over, without a beat he responded, “Everything.” I made him narrow the list down, and this is what he came up with …
1. Baby and kid gear.
I cannot buy a stroller, carseat, sippy cup, glider, or baby monitor without looking at said items for hours and hours online and visiting at least two separate locations of Babies ‘R’ Us and Buy Buy Baby — oh, and a few independent boutiques as well — where I will bombard the salespeople with a list of questions, cross referencing their answers with Amazon reviews.
I call this doing my research, because I want the best product and the lowest price. My husband calls it wasting my time.
“I don’t really care. It’s not a car, it’s a stroller,” says the man who isn’t stuck pushing it around all day, every day for four years, when I ask him to come look at two different models. Eventually, I make decisions without his input and then plug my ears when he complains about said items.
2. Every little sneeze, cough, and red spot on our kids.
I’ve never in my life been a hypochondriac, and when it comes to my own health, I have to be bleeding out and gasping for breath to call the doctor’s office, but my kids are a different story. Every one of their bruises, runny noses, bug bites, and hacks of phlegm makes my heart stop for at least five seconds.
“Honey, look,” I will frantically say to my husband when I spot a new puffy, purple spot on my son’s knee, which could be some poisonous, infected insect bite that will cause him to lose a limb. “What is it?”
He then looks at me like I belong in the looney bin. “Are you kidding? It’s a bruise. He falls 50 times a day.”
My husband is always right and our children have never suffered anything more than an ear infection, but that doesn’t mean I will relent.
3. Other moms.
Years ago, pre-kids when I worked full-time in a newsroom with other adult humans, I was pretty consumed with office politics, as I spent a significant amount of time with the people I worked with.
“Can you believe so-and-so did that?” I would say to whomever I was dating at the time. I’m sure they never really cared, as they had only met so-and-so once, but they pretended to listen nonetheless.
Now that I have children and only work part-time as a freelance writer, my social interactions are limited to other moms and kids, most of whom I encounter at the local playground, children’s museum, or Whole Foods market, and may or may not ever see again.
“Can you believe so-and-so did that?” I will ask my husband when he gets home from work, about the woman whose kid bopped another on the head with a LEGO and didn’t even bother to put him in time-out. This is usually when he zones out, doesn’t respond, and turns on an episode of Cops.
4. My body.
It’s no secret that us women obsess over our bodies, but breaking news: our husbands don’t really care. I think my husband pretends not to hear me most of the time as I’m moaning about my post-pregnant body because he knows that it’s sort of a trap, and whatever he says won’t be the right thing.
“I feel like I’ve lost weight,” I said the other night to him, after my first trip back to the gym after having our daughter three months ago. “Do I look skinnier?”
Without really answering the question, he kindly reminds me that I’ve only been to the gym once, a few hours earlier.
If you’ve got a good man, like I do, he isn’t looking at you and thinking about the cellulite on your thighs or the extra casing around your midsection. No, he probably cares more about the episode of Cops he’s watching, because he loves you just the way you are.
5. Every little piece of nostalgia.
My husband can be sentimental at times, but in his mind, spending an afternoon walking down memory lane is pretty much the equivalent of me being forced to watch a Hostel marathon. Since having children I have become that sap of a person who loves to talk about how grateful I am for birds pooping on my head and how everything happens for a reason. He feels like things are the way they are, because, well, they just are.
I can literally sit there and talk for an hour about how if we didn’t go to the grocery store at 3 PM on May 1, 2015 and buy mangoes instead of strawberries, that our daughter wouldn’t be here. I might get a few “uh, huhs” out of him before he asks me to keep it down because I’m interrupting his episode of Cops.
6. Taking photos and refusing to delete them.
I am sort of a photo hoarder. Currently I have over 5,000 photos and 387 videos on my camera roll, all of which are already copied onto my computer.
My husband was scrolling through the photos on my iPhone the other day, when suddenly a look of absolute horror washed over his face. “Why do you have 30 photos of the kids sitting on the couch together in the same position?” he asked me.
I went on to explain that I took a bunch to ensure that I would get the best possible shot.
“So then why didn’t you delete the rest?”
I continued by telling him that I wasn’t sure which was the best and didn’t want to delete the others because maybe, one day, I would change my mind.
He rolled his eyes.
7. His bad habits.
Last night after both of our kids were sleeping and I was working in bed, I looked over at my husband who was tearing off his toenails and placing them on his pillow as he was watching Cops. With a disgusted look on my face, I rhetorically asked him what he was doing. He got defensive.
“It’s none of your business,” he responded with a slight laugh. “Why do you obsess over what I’m doing when you should be working?”
Because I’m a woman and happen to be married to you. Duh.
8. His obsession with Cops.
Until I moved in with my husband three years ago, I didn’t even know that the 1980s television show Cops was still on the air, let alone that there were people who actually watched it. And then, I heard that awful Inner Circle reggae song blasting from the other room: Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonnna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?
My husband is a bona fide Cops junky, recording every episode and rerun of the documentary-style show and playing them daily. At least a few times every week I ask him why he is so obsessed with drunk rednecks in domestic disputes slurring their innocence to fat police officers. And he doesn’t understand why I am obsessed with his obsession.
Ah, marriage.More On