I’m ready to throw in the towel, hang up my hat and give the fat lady the floor so she can sing her booty off. What I’m trying to say is, I’m ready to give up the chase and devote all of my time and energy to being a stay-at-home wife and mother.
This feeling started brewing even before I gave birth to my sons. I’ve asked my husband dozens of times if I could quit the rat race and be a full-time domestic Goddess. I enticed him with visions of daily 5-course meals, goblets of his favorite libation waiting for him when he got home from work, a house so clean that he could eat off of the floor and not to mention the nightly nooky that his nubile nymph of a wife would happily provide him.
He wasn’t sold.
While I may have stretched my intentions a bit to sweeten the pot and putting all jokes aside, I am realizing that I’m souring on most everything else that is not my true desire.