I always wonder how my relationship with your mother, particularly as it relates to us arguing, will change when you’re in the picture. Maybe you’ll just annoy the hell out of us with all your crying, and the sleep-deprived versions of your mom and me will be very irritable, sparking argument after argument. But a part of me thinks your existence will serve as a constant reminder for us (or at least me) to keep things in perspective and therefore most of the more petty fights will fall by the wayside.
Until then, your mom’s stuck with my irrational logic and seemingly futile efforts to set my pride aside when we get into a petty disagreement. It’s one thing to fight about something meaningful such as…(I’m not sure what and it occurs to me that perhaps there is nothing really worth fighting about), but it’s a whole other thing to fight about something as petty as me admitting that I’m annoyed. That’s right, a fight about admitting how I’m feeling. Not a fight about the fact that I am annoyed. I don’t even know how we get into these arguments – it honestly feels like I’m walking around outside on a sunny day, blink, and then it’s a dark thunderstorm with hail, snow, and rain all at once. If that sounds impossible, it’s because it is, but that’s how outlandish it feels.
If you’re wondering how petty I can be, the answer is pretty petty. Your mother and I had a fight a week prior to the fight that changed the landscape of our apartment (see Fight Club Vol. 1), which was also due to my game playing because your mother hated the fact that she didn’t feel like she could talk to me in our own living room. After the initial wave of rah rah rah, we tried to talk through some solutions, which included moving my desk upstairs to the guest room.
As usual, we ended up getting into some other related disagreement and there’s more rah rah rah. I eventually got mad enough that I just picked up my bulky Herman Miller Aeron chair and marched it upstairs, which only made your mother more upset because I walked off in the middle of it all. There I was, in the guest room out of breath with my desk chair while your mother was crying downstairs, and all I could think about was how much work it would be to actually move my desk up here: I’d have to disconnect all my computer cables, gather up all the kiddy desk toys, carry my two 24″ monitors, break down my desk, and then put it all back together. Some combination of that and your mother sobbing away downstairs made me realize how completely stupid the idea was to move my desk up here. But as I was already upstairs and not ready to come down and admit defeat, I tried to keep up appearances and dragged the ironing board back and forth across the room to make it sound like I was still serious.
I subsequently came back downstairs with my mean-muggin’ (urban dictionary definition here for your mom’s sake) face and gathered up some easy desk toys to bring upstairs knowing full well I’d be bringing them back down later.
Maybe it was all the walking, but I finally came around to apologizing and talking it through with your mother, although not before I suggested that she should move her desk upstairs instead…I know what you’re thinking, “the balls on this one”.
Don’t be like me. It’s unbecoming: it was evident in the aftermath of our fight and it’s very evident putting it down in writing.
P.S. Listen to this.