It has been suggested, here and there, that the wife either is a saint, or should be nominated for such.
I agree, and believe me, you do not know the half of it.
She was gone, last night, so I ended up being Johnny's nurse, a job that has always been hers. I hooked him up to his CPAP breathing machine. I moved his baby monitor into my room. I got the worst fucking night's sleep outside of being in the military I've ever had.
The Saint is up in the mountains with forty or so other broodies, and I know she is having a great time. Men, especially you men with kids, or who are spectacular assholes, or both, follow my lead.
Get rid of your woman at every opportunity. She will come back, refreshed, and there will be blowjobs, and cooking of treats, and the sun will somehow shine brighter.
And you will appreciate all the shit she does, when you have to do it yourself. And if you have kids, they will appreciate you all the more, if you do it right.
Today, it's to the Dollar Store, and thence to Dairy Queen, for Dilly Bars. Thanks, donaters.
Tonight, I muffle John's bed rail with a towel or Ace bandage or something, so the corrugated hose doesn't ratchet back and forth all night. No wonder the wife has been looking bleary.
Anyway, lavish the same care on your woman, as you would on your car, or your yard, and see what happens.
She has a me, too, you know.