Behind every great man...

Welcome to ‘The Chronicles of a Reluctant Housewife’ where I document my love/hate relationship with my current occupation.

It has been an interesting week. 

I decided to sleep-in all week, and then spent each evening tossing and turning and reluctantly crawling out of bed because ‘what was the point?’

I did get the doctor’s appointment done.  Always fun, that one. I got the jean skirt almost done.  It took me one and a half Harry Potter movies and I still have more work.  I also altered some trousers (the rest are too nice for my improv alteration skills).  I didn’t write any posts (more on that later) but I did plan a weekend away for Pete’s big birthday (although he has to do all the driving).

This week I realized that it has been a year since I have contributed financially to our family.  In about two months I will complete my first year as a housewife.  I have come to realize that what I like about the job is not enough to satisfy me in the long term.  While they might be helpful, laundry, food lists, errands, chores and general reminders aren’t really inspiring.  I haven’t been holding up my side of the team. 

My beautiful husband turns 30 this week (I know, he’s a young’n). In the past five years I have watched him go from working shifts in a basement monitoring computers to creating a global VP position for himself at an international company, while also dealing with my fortnightly PhD breakdowns.  That is inspiring.  (Incidentally, he also planned five years of holidays, a surprise proposal in a foreign city, managed all our finances, negotiated for our current flat, and temporarily ran away with the circus). 

Meanwhile, I have gone from part-time professor and dance teacher and funky independent woman to financially (and visa) –dependant housewife.  I racked up the calligraphy adorned papers, became a half-decent cook and planned an international five-week extravaganza (although Pete helped with that a bit as well, and really, the cooking is an accomplishment since five years ago I could barely cook rice).  Except I did all that while still contributing (no matter how little) to our financial pot.  For the last year I have done nothing inspiring.  I have had all the time in the world and the best I have done is ensured there is dinner and clean shirts and lost some weight.  It’s helpful to Pete, but it’s not really inspiring. 

I stopped writing regularly about my weight loss and domestic life because I thought there was more to me than that.  Turns out I was wrong.  My life is about diets & dishes.  I am the woman behind the great man.  Is it wrong to feel that it isn’t enough?