In fact, not only is there no progress, we’ve pretty much fallen back into the habits and groove of what our marriage was before I moved upstairs for 5 weeks. He may miss me, as he stated when I moved back downstairs, but certainly not enough to change anything. That, you see, is my responsibility.
So I am taking that responsibility. Just not in the way he wants.
Yesterday afternoon, my daughter came over with my new (and adorably red-haired – don’t ask me where that came from) grandson, and I got some serious snuggle time in. He’s barely a month old, so he’s still not doing much more than eating, sleeping and pooping, but I don’t care – he’s my grandson, so he’s the sweetest, cutest and most wonderful baby in the world. Do not challenge me on this, because you will NOT win. :p
At any rate, my husband came home from work a little early to smoosh the little guy himself, and the minute he walked up to me, I could tell he’d been drinking at the office – he just reeked of vodka. *sigh* After she left, it was nearly 7 p.m. and I was in no mood to cook, so my husband suggested we go to our second-favorite restaurant for dinner. I agreed – if he got hostile with the waitress there (we have a favorite and always sit in her section), it’s close enough that I could simply get up and walk the half a mile home. I was actually curious to see how it would go, to be honest.
While he was pleasant towards our waitress, he was sullen and uncommunicative towards me. He made a big deal about not ordering a drink (I, on the other hand, did), and played with his phone throughout the entire meal. He’s a master of passive-aggressive behavior and was obviously trying, in his not-so-subtle way, to affect my enjoyment of a leisurely and pleasant meal. He was especially disgruntled when I ordered dessert, something I hadn’t planned on until I was told the special (warm pumpkin cake! With vanilla bean ice cream! And a caramel drizzle!).
I didn’t let him rush me, though, and enjoyed myself more than he obviously wanted. When we got home, he went into the garage for a bit to hit up his hidden booze stash out there, and I thought to myself, Well, I guess we won’t be going out to dinner any more. The thought made me sad, because as infrequently as we dine out, it’s the only thing we do together outside of home and work any more.
Then it occurred to me that while we won’t be going out to dinner any more, that doesn’t mean I won’t be going out to dinner any more. When I’d mentioned earlier in the day that I needed the car Tuesday evening so I could go to the library for an adult “craft” class, I told him I’d make sure we ate dinner before I left for the 6:00 p.m. event. He told me not to worry; we could do a “fend for yourself” night. Well, all righty, then – I’ll just fend for myself at a nearby restaurant.
Maybe I’m not nearly as codependent as my therapist seems to think.