First: thank you all for the comments. I really appreciate the acknowledgment right now.

Last night ended up being one of our Marathon Processing Nights. The nights I use as evidence that I married a Berkeley dyke. Most of it went reasonably well. I finally got him to see the difference between saying, “I don’t like it when you are nasty about Tao” as opposed to, “Why are you ALWAYS so nasty about EVERY girl I know better than you do?” The latter just makes me feel defensive and angry because it isn’t bloody true. I came up with a huge laundry list of names to prove that it isn’t true. He had a lot of trouble accepting it at first but eventually grudgingly saw the difference. Then we turned to talking about his frequent loud pronouncements that EVERYTHING he tries to do to deal with problems fails. Uhm, that isn’t true because we are not having many of the problems we had two years ago. Obviously things have been fixed. The problem is there isn’t one big one size fits all solution to all problems that can be set down on problem after problem and that pisses him off. He hates that each individual problem has to be dealt with as a separate case. I finally yelled at him (in a Denny’s, so classy “I’m not one of your fucking computer programs where you can fix a dozen bugs by fixing one line of code.” Strangely it helped.

So that was all incredibly festive but actually lead to resolutions so it was ok. We had agreed yesterday morning before work that we would do the “What does money mean to me” exercise my therapist recommended after work. So we got to come home from about two hours of processing to that. At first it seemed like the exercise wasn’t going to be very helpful cause we already know most of what we wrote about. I was torn between being amused and being irritated that he described my set of expectations/experiences about money as looking like someone who grew up around Columbian druglords. Dude, is that your only understanding of poverty? Don’t you see how money is power and control fucking everywhere?? Eventually the conversation became focused on how he sees having money as having independence. This lead to a huge battle in which he wants to have money set aside for him to spend however he wants without consulting me. Because he feels like he is losing all of his independence if all of the money is “ours”. Well, bitch, you are the one who wanted me to start thinking of it as “our” money. You have pushed and pushed and pushed. I have given up my personal claim to the part of the money that I am bringing into the household right now as preparation for when none of the money will be mine. He wants to set aside money that will be “his” and that will be “mine” for us to spend in whatever ways we see fit. Uhm, we already spend this money. Why do you need it to be specifically labeled and set aside? What do you gain from that? He gets to not have to consult me anymore–he gets his precious independence. Let’s ignore the fact that the basis of my independence since I was 14 fucking years old has been that I support myself. I get to give that up to stay home with our kids, but he doesn’t give up any of his independence? Oh–he will *choose* to *let* me call part of his money my money and that will make it all better? Fuck you. That isn’t my god damn money. I didn’t earn it. So he said that taking care of the kids and the house is work we would pay someone else to do so why not pay me to do it. I almost turned around and said, “Some people pay someone to get laid. Are you going to start paying me every time we fuck so I can be your whore as well as your nanny and housekeeper?” I didn’t say it. I started crying instead. I left the room and cried in the guest room for a while. Then I took a bath and cried so more. I had a really hard time not cutting. Then I slept in the guest room all night. That bed is the one thing in this house of any serious value that is *mine* so if he wants to fight about indpendence that is the closest I have to any of my independence left.

Before I left the room crying I realized that at this point I am pretty trapped because of the baby. I could keep working even with the baby, but I really don’t want to do that to my kid. So I told him that I never thought I would ever regret getting pregnant. That’s when I left. I haven’t talked to him since. I stayed home today. My head hurts so bad it feels like it might explode. My stomach is in knots. My throat is tight and achey. What in the fuck am I doing?