I love my husband. Truly. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have married him.

When XBoy was born, he turned into the best father, contrary to both our fears, and I loved him even more.

Now that XBoy is at that age where he reacts with teen aged flair, like pulling faces; or stomping around the house; or saying, “blah blah blah” after he’s been lectured, Mr. DD’s patience with him has waned considerably.

I’ll admit, so has mine. A two or three year old is a true joy compared to a child who can use logic and lie and work a TV remote better than you.

But the first week we were home with ZGirl, Mr. DD rode XBoy around like a sway-backed pony.

“Do this! Do that!” and then if XBoy didn’t do it or didn’t do it fast enough, Mr. DD would yell some more including the phrase, “Do as I’ve asked  you to do!”

I don’t know about you, but an order is not a request, and I’ve said as much to Mr. DD.

XBoy was initially excited to spend some time home with ZGirl and I and said he wanted to help me with her. By Wednesday, he preferred to go to daycare. It was a shame because when I needed something, all I had to do was say, “XBoy, would you help me with something, please?” He’d ask what, and I would then ask him to do XYZ.

Granted, I had to make sure he wasn’t watching Nickelodeon or some other mind-numbing crap (if I could have them pull Barn Yard, I would in a heartbeat, followed closely by Sponge Bob), but most of the time he did it without complaint.

I have reminded Mr. DD over and over again that XBoy has an emotional sensitivity similar to myself, and that he knows that when he yells at me I shut him out completely. I can’t tell you how many times when we were dating that I would turn my back on him, walk out the door, and drive away during an argument. I’ll gladly have a discussion, even a heated discussion, but start raising your voice?

That’s when the little voice in my head starts its sing-song, “You’re a douchebag. You’re a douchebag.”

Also, Mr. DD gets so frustrated with XBoy that he threatens him with the most inane punishments, “If you don’t have your shoes on by the time I get mine on, I’m leaving you home,” or more recently, in an exchange with me where he thought I was undermining his authority with XBoy (after I had XBoy go to the bathroom and then tuck him in for the night, he made him get back out of bed ten minutes later and to try to pee again in which I responded, “He just went.”), he said, “Then I’ll get him up every half hour every night.”

Yeah, right.

Lastly, since ZGirl’s exclusively nursing right now, Mr. DD’s responsibilities are to get up with her at night, change her diaper, and keep her settled until I can get situated. Five minutes – tops – is all he needs to commit at two or three times a night, while it can take ZGirl 45 – 60 minutes to finally decide she’s done for three or four hours. Yet, I’m the first to hear her fussing, so I have to wake him, to which he grumbles in his sleep, “What?!”

Cue, “You’re a douchebag, you’re a douchebag…”

I repeat: I love Mr. DD, but right now, that only means I love a douchebag.