The One Will All The Worrying
So, it’s 5.45pm on a weekday. Husband is not home from work. I’m cooking the evening meal and have been anxiously glancing out of the window for the past half an hour to see if his car has pulled up outside yet. It hasn’t. Hubby leaves work at 5pm, at the latest. It takes fifteen minutes to drive home, twenty on a bad day.
I think about it for a minute or two and then send a text. Are you on the way?
This is not some 1950s housewife anxiety about the state the meal might be in when he arrives. I don’t do that meal on the table thing.
But I am anxious, in the same way I am anxious every time he arrives home later than I expect. My train of thought goes something like this:
A reasonable person would tell me if he was leaving the office later than planned. My husband is a reasonable person, and so must have left on time. Therefore something dreadful has happened on the way home.
Multiply those thoughts by three if there is still snow on the ground.
I hate this part of my brain, and I really wish I could turn it off. It’s the same part of my brain which, when it comes to the children, imagines the worst case scenario and then removes all other possibilities from my head. It’s exhausting. And I don’t know what to do about it.
And it also leaves me wondering, when husband arrives a few minutes later, whether to hug him tight because he’s arrived home safe or clock him over the head with a frying pan because he didn’t think to tell me he was leaving late. Hmn … decisions, decisions.