Sometimes I envy you. Sometimes when you get home, your great mood is almost maddening. I envy how our daughter always seems to get your best because it feels like all too often she doesn’t get mine.
I envy that she calls you daddy, while I’ve yet to ever hear the word mommy.
I envy the fact that when dinner is over, you two go play while I clean up the dinner mess. I envy, too, that you want to go play with her because you haven’t spent your whole day doing so. I know you do it as a favor to me and I appreciate it, but it’s a conflicting feeling; just because I don’t want to play anymore doesn’t necessarily mean I want to clean up the kitchen either.
I envy the fact that your alone time doesn’t look like you cleaning up the kitchen while I occupy the child.
I envy how she laughs with you. Of course, she laughs with me too and it’s my most favorite sound, but she really laughs with you. It’s obvious that you are funnier to her than I am, and I am so thankful, but sometimes I envy you.
I envy how patient you are. In my head I know it’s because it’s only the second time you’ve had to say it for the day as opposed to my 15th, but the envy is there all the same. You’re not the only one who notices my impatience, and believe it or not, I was aware of it before you said my name in that tone you so love. I envy the fact that I rarely have to say your name in such a tone.
Sometimes I envy you for the adult conversations I know you had, for the fact that you go places in your car with only the company of your own thoughts, for the fact that you can run to Chick-fil-A real quick for lunch without a second thought or a diaper bag.
I am living my dream every single day doing exactly what I’ve always wanted to do, and you are who makes it possible because you do what I would be heartbroken to do every single day. I could not be more grateful, and it may not make much sense at all, but sometimes . . . I envy you.