Fatal familial nag syndrome


I love Manchild so much, it makes the hair fall right off of his face.  It truly is sad, because it totally makes me weak in the knees when he’s wearing two weeks of scruff.  He was a wonderful carer for a couple of months, but then he figured I’d feel better about myself if I do all of the self-care taking.  It’s true.  Sometimes it’s difficult, but I manage, and overall it keeps morale on the upper end of fine.

Somewhere along the line, this turned into, “I’ll let her take care of me, because that makes her feel good too.”

Fair enough.  It was sort of my job before my DNA got stuck to the side of the gravitron and permanently scrambled making me more or less worthless as a domestic goddess.  I stressed that it really does take all I have to care for myself, so each additional task I take on outside of that requires me to sacrifice bits of self-care.  I’m willing to do that to a point.  I’ll skip showering and eat a bowl of yogurt for dinner every once in a while if it means he gets to eat something other than corn dogs.  I’ll push his dirty laundry to the front of the line and go commando for a couple of days while I get him caught up.  I’ll even pick up his trail of crap and spend the next day or two in bed while cursing him under my breath.

The key being every once in a while.  This isn’t how it worked out.  It went from being a nice favor to being something that’s expected.  He sees I’m capable, so it must be fine.  Oh boy, no.  It’s not fine.  It’s a bit too much for me, especially now that I have to roll everywhere I go rather than walk, and I should have known from the start that it would happen this way.  I’ve asked him to take care of his stuff.  Laundry, dishes, offered to help him with cooking if he needs it (ha, he definitely needs it), and have asked him to pick up after himself.  He acknowledges, then nothing happens.  The laundry piles up, the dirty dishes multiply, the trail of crap grows and I fall over stuff.  I get agitated, and calmly make the same request again.  Repeat this process 10 times, and I reach my limit.  The agitation is obvious and he tells me I’m irritable and I need to increase my pain meds again.

No!  I’d hurt less if I didn’t have to adult for you, doofus!  He’s turning me into a nag.  I don’t like nags.  My Mom is the worst.  When I nag, I can hear her super obnoxious nag voice echoing in my skull.  It’s not cool.  I’ve devised a plan that may or may not work.  I’m making a chore board and making a schedule for both of us so that household duties will be split, and laundry days will alternate so the washer and dryer will be free when they’re needed.  He’s good about taking the trash out every Wednesday because it’s when trash pickup is scheduled.  I think this is a reasonable solution, and seeing what needs to be done on a board in front of him might keep it from slipping his slimy mind.

This had better work, or so help me, I’m taking a drip torch to the piles and trails before the nag becomes permanent.



5 thoughts on “Fatal familial nag syndrome

  1. I can see those pictures lol… I do feel the pain. I’m thankful that my guy is very helpful with things like this… I hope and wish you well and waiting for those memes lol love the idea painkills2

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I feel for you. I very adamantly do NOT want to raise another man. I hate having to beg, bargain and bully a man into pulling his own weight. In fact, my perfect husband will live two blocks away – close enough to visit often, far enough away that I don’t have to take care of his crap and he can live in filth. I can’t help but think a chore board is for young children, not grownups. Really, what is it going to take for him to step up?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hahaha, separate living arrangements is a fantastic idea! It really is like dealing with a kid sometimes, and the more I order him around to get shit down, the more he ignores me like I’m his Mom. I could offer him stickers after each completed task. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

      • Oh, god. I’m getting all irked and I’m not even you! But I really do get angry when men corner us into the position of playing disciplinarian, and then get mad when we mother them. They can’t have it both ways! Time to put on the big boy panties, Moddler (Man Toddler).

        Liked by 1 person

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