Paint me Crazy

So within every relationship, there exists a need for some compromise, and perhaps.... just perhaps, some sacrifice.


Today is quite possibly the first time in the 10+ months I've been married that I feel my marriage is being tested.


maybe not even the marriage, as much as my sanity, but something is being tested, that's for sure.


My husband is painting the baby's room.


Now--- by nature, I'm a few eggs short of being a full-on perfectionist. I could easily blame this on my parents like everyone else in America does when they have a trait about themselves that sometimes doesn't seem to work to their advantage. But the truth is I've embraced this urge for perfection on many levels.

My husband is very much like me--- if I even go NEAR a computer with him around, I literally can see the hairs on his neck and arms standing up straight as he twitches from all the things I'm 'not doing right'.


BUT---- we're anal about different things. most of the time this works out great for us--- he's a bit pickier about how the bathrooms and house in general are cleaned.... so I let him do it. I cover the food and social interactions, and so on and so forth. we work. we fit.

but let me repeat---- he's painting the baby's room. as we speak.


I know you're thinking that it should be no big deal--- you buy paint, you put it on the walls. but you see---- painting is one of my things. it always has been. be it crayons on my radiator, markers on my body, or nail polish on just about everything--- there is a history with me and painting. it's what I do. It's what I LIKE to do.


I'm sure the room will turn out fine--- he *IS* a capable 34 year old who has two degrees---- it's just tough sitting back with my extra six pounds and watching him without saying anything. BUT--- I can do it.... it is, after all, a test, isn't it? At the very least, I know I get to put the furniture together.