So what did she call you about?? Please make a part 2

Jacktheripper:
I don’t even know who gave me the idea but I used to think marriage was like a delicious soup, a perfect mix of ingredients that, when cooked just right, becomes something greater than the sum of its parts.

Five years in…

I am starting to wonder if I have been served a plate of overcooked, burnt offerings instead.

Don't get me wrong o, I love my wife. Or at least, I'm pretty sure I still do.

It's just that lately,things with her feels like trying to hug a porcupine - painful, and leaving me wondering why I keep attempting it.

Why?

I usually drag myself through 12-hour shifts at work, working until my eyes blur, all to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.

Meanwhile, my wife stays home with our son. It should be a fair division of labor, right?

Except lately, I feel like I'm working two full-time jobs: one at my work, and another cleaning up the messes my wife leaves in her wake.

Take last week, for instance…

I came home to find my son with a nasty bump on his forehead.

Well, my wife had been scrolling through TikTok videos while he climbed onto the kitchen counter and took a dive onto the tile floor.

When I suggested maybe she could pay a bit more attention, you'd think I'd accused her of trying to sacrifice our child to Moremi.

"Are you saying I'm a bad mother?" "Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch a toddler every second of every day?" she shouted at me like my manager at work.

I suggested it might be easier if she spent less time debating BBN housemates with her Twitter friends and more time, oh I don't know, actually watching our son. But I have learned that logic and my wife go together about as well as garri and palm oil.

Then there was the great stovetop incident of last month.

I came home to find the kitchen filled with smoke, my wife fanning at our glass-top stove with a dishcloth.

You won’t have guessed what happened.

Apparently, she decided to cook vegetables directly on the stovetop. No pot. No pan. Just leaves sizzling away on the glass surface.

"I was trying a new recipe!" she protested when I asked what in the name of the gods she was thinking. "The blog said to cook the vegetables on high heat!"

I took a deep breath like a supervisor when he had just finished listening to a terrible project defense, channeling the patience of a thousand ancestors. "Sweetheart," I said, as calmly as I could manage, "when recipes say that, they generally assume you're using some kind of cookware."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me stupid?"

And there it was.

The minefield I step into every time I try to address these... let's call them quirks. Any suggestion, no matter how gently phrased, is met with defensiveness sharper than my mother's best paring knife.

More often than not, I find myself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirs above us.

I think about the bright-eyed girl I fell in love with, the one whose laugh could light up a room. I wonder where she went, and when she was replaced by this doppelganger who seems to view me as her personal enemy.

Some days, I feel the love I have for her slipping away, like sand through an hourglass.

I catch myself daydreaming about a life where I don't have to constantly be on guard like Arsenal supporters trying to defend why they have never won the UCL.

Where I can come home and relax instead of wondering what new disaster awaits me.

But then my son will come up to me, arms outstretched, babbling "Daddy!" And I'll see my wife eyes in his face, her smile on his lips.

In those moments, I remember why I fell in love with her in the first place.

She called earlier today, her voice tight with that usual tone that always spells trouble. "We need to talk," she said.

Those four words hang in the air as I write this on my laptop.

I know for sure when I get home that I will sit in the car for a long moment, gathering my courage. Whatever awaits me behind that door, I know it will test the very foundations of our marriage.

The 7 year itch has arrived.
You never suggest that a parent was careless with their child. No one will take that.

I think you cannot afford to have a full time housewife. You are taking on too many hours and coming home irritated and angry due to tiredness. ( the vegetables was a minor issue you could have overlooked if you were well rested. I try out recipes all the time,i can explode the cooker if i like. I ll replace it without being told. But she probably wouldnt be able to)

Meanwhile your wife is not happy in her stay at home role. Who would be? She needs adult conversation and earning power.

I suggest marriage counselling if you want to continue enjoying and not enduring your message. Book in an appointment. (Not pastor o,marriage counsellor)
Good luck 👍

Jacktheripper:
I don’t even know who gave me the idea but I used to think marriage was like a delicious soup, a perfect mix of ingredients that, when cooked just right, becomes something greater than the sum of its parts.

Five years in…

I am starting to wonder if I have been served a plate of overcooked, burnt offerings instead.

Don't get me wrong o, I love my wife. Or at least, I'm pretty sure I still do.

It's just that lately,things with her feels like trying to hug a porcupine - painful, and leaving me wondering why I keep attempting it.

Why?

I usually drag myself through 12-hour shifts at work, working until my eyes blur, all to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.

Meanwhile, my wife stays home with our son. It should be a fair division of labor, right?

Except lately, I feel like I'm working two full-time jobs: one at my work, and another cleaning up the messes my wife leaves in her wake.

Take last week, for instance…

I came home to find my son with a nasty bump on his forehead.

Well, my wife had been scrolling through TikTok videos while he climbed onto the kitchen counter and took a dive onto the tile floor.

When I suggested maybe she could pay a bit more attention, you'd think I'd accused her of trying to sacrifice our child to Moremi.

"Are you saying I'm a bad mother?" "Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch a toddler every second of every day?" she shouted at me like my manager at work.

I suggested it might be easier if she spent less time debating BBN housemates with her Twitter friends and more time, oh I don't know, actually watching our son. But I have learned that logic and my wife go together about as well as garri and palm oil.

Then there was the great stovetop incident of last month.

I came home to find the kitchen filled with smoke, my wife fanning at our glass-top stove with a dishcloth.

You won’t have guessed what happened.

Apparently, she decided to cook vegetables directly on the stovetop. No pot. No pan. Just leaves sizzling away on the glass surface.

"I was trying a new recipe!" she protested when I asked what in the name of the gods she was thinking. "The blog said to cook the vegetables on high heat!"

I took a deep breath like a supervisor when he had just finished listening to a terrible project defense, channeling the patience of a thousand ancestors. "Sweetheart," I said, as calmly as I could manage, "when recipes say that, they generally assume you're using some kind of cookware."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me stupid?"

And there it was.

The minefield I step into every time I try to address these... let's call them quirks. Any suggestion, no matter how gently phrased, is met with defensiveness sharper than my mother's best paring knife.

More often than not, I find myself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirs above us.

I think about the bright-eyed girl I fell in love with, the one whose laugh could light up a room. I wonder where she went, and when she was replaced by this doppelganger who seems to view me as her personal enemy.

Some days, I feel the love I have for her slipping away, like sand through an hourglass.

I catch myself daydreaming about a life where I don't have to constantly be on guard like Arsenal supporters trying to defend why they have never won the UCL.

Where I can come home and relax instead of wondering what new disaster awaits me.

But then my son will come up to me, arms outstretched, babbling "Daddy!" And I'll see my wife eyes in his face, her smile on his lips.

In those moments, I remember why I fell in love with her in the first place.

She called earlier today, her voice tight with that usual tone that always spells trouble. "We need to talk," she said.

Those four words hang in the air as I write this on my laptop.

I know for sure when I get home that I will sit in the car for a long moment, gathering my courage. Whatever awaits me behind that door, I know it will test the very foundations of our marriage.

Is she lightskin or dakskin sir?

I didn't read the post, but I want to categorically advise you to frustrate her back. She's not a good woman.






Biko, can someone pls tell me what the woman did? 🙃

Jacktheripper:
I don’t even know who gave me the idea but I used to think marriage was like a delicious soup, a perfect mix of ingredients that, when cooked just right, becomes something greater than the sum of its parts.

Five years in…

I am starting to wonder if I have been served a plate of overcooked, burnt offerings instead.

Don't get me wrong o, I love my wife. Or at least, I'm pretty sure I still do.

It's just that lately,things with her feels like trying to hug a porcupine - painful, and leaving me wondering why I keep attempting it.

Why?

I usually drag myself through 12-hour shifts at work, working until my eyes blur, all to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.

Meanwhile, my wife stays home with our son. It should be a fair division of labor, right?

Except lately, I feel like I'm working two full-time jobs: one at my work, and another cleaning up the messes my wife leaves in her wake.

Take last week, for instance…

I came home to find my son with a nasty bump on his forehead.

Well, my wife had been scrolling through TikTok videos while he climbed onto the kitchen counter and took a dive onto the tile floor.

When I suggested maybe she could pay a bit more attention, you'd think I'd accused her of trying to sacrifice our child to Moremi.

"Are you saying I'm a bad mother?" "Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch a toddler every second of every day?" she shouted at me like my manager at work.

I suggested it might be easier if she spent less time debating BBN housemates with her Twitter friends and more time, oh I don't know, actually watching our son. But I have learned that logic and my wife go together about as well as garri and palm oil.

Then there was the great stovetop incident of last month.

I came home to find the kitchen filled with smoke, my wife fanning at our glass-top stove with a dishcloth.

You won’t have guessed what happened.

Apparently, she decided to cook vegetables directly on the stovetop. No pot. No pan. Just leaves sizzling away on the glass surface.

"I was trying a new recipe!" she protested when I asked what in the name of the gods she was thinking. "The blog said to cook the vegetables on high heat!"

I took a deep breath like a supervisor when he had just finished listening to a terrible project defense, channeling the patience of a thousand ancestors. "Sweetheart," I said, as calmly as I could manage, "when recipes say that, they generally assume you're using some kind of cookware."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me stupid?"

And there it was.

The minefield I step into every time I try to address these... let's call them quirks. Any suggestion, no matter how gently phrased, is met with defensiveness sharper than my mother's best paring knife.

More often than not, I find myself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirs above us.

I think about the bright-eyed girl I fell in love with, the one whose laugh could light up a room. I wonder where she went, and when she was replaced by this doppelganger who seems to view me as her personal enemy.

Some days, I feel the love I have for her slipping away, like sand through an hourglass.

I catch myself daydreaming about a life where I don't have to constantly be on guard like Arsenal supporters trying to defend why they have never won the UCL.

Where I can come home and relax instead of wondering what new disaster awaits me.

But then my son will come up to me, arms outstretched, babbling "Daddy!" And I'll see my wife eyes in his face, her smile on his lips.

In those moments, I remember why I fell in love with her in the first place.

She called earlier today, her voice tight with that usual tone that always spells trouble. "We need to talk," she said.

Those four words hang in the air as I write this on my laptop.

I know for sure when I get home that I will sit in the car for a long moment, gathering my courage. Whatever awaits me behind that door, I know it will test the very foundations of our marriage.

I'd have advised but that shot on Arsenal is a NO NO for me.

That's a lighter note.

Good you identified the background of the problem - social media & television which shows, she needs to get busy.

As for your boy, check him into all these kindergartens just to leave home and learn new things away from home.

I believe you have an intuition of what she's trying to bring up. As advised, doused the tension with something she loves (drinks, food, just a surprise) that will melt her heart. Let her bring the topic for discussion, listen and don't respond immediately. Whatever it is, tell her you need to take your bath and eat. That short period, think of the best way to still douse the tension.

I don't know her age but she sounds young to understand why social media shouldn't be a yardstick in the home. That needs to be corrected ASAP. If you can make her busy and take your boy for some hrs from home, I believe she will change.

The identified social problem is a big menace with this young ladies. Don't over look.

If your wife dae frustrate you we go know, person way wife dae frustrate no go dae rhyme

Jacktheripper:
I don’t even know who gave me the idea but I used to think marriage was like a delicious soup, a perfect mix of ingredients that, when cooked just right, becomes something greater than the sum of its parts.

Five years in…

I am starting to wonder if I have been served a plate of overcooked, burnt offerings instead.

Don't get me wrong o, I love my wife. Or at least, I'm pretty sure I still do.

It's just that lately,things with her feels like trying to hug a porcupine - painful, and leaving me wondering why I keep attempting it.

Why?

I usually drag myself through 12-hour shifts at work, working until my eyes blur, all to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.

Meanwhile, my wife stays home with our son. It should be a fair division of labor, right?

Except lately, I feel like I'm working two full-time jobs: one at my work, and another cleaning up the messes my wife leaves in her wake.

Take last week, for instance…

I came home to find my son with a nasty bump on his forehead.

Well, my wife had been scrolling through TikTok videos while he climbed onto the kitchen counter and took a dive onto the tile floor.

When I suggested maybe she could pay a bit more attention, you'd think I'd accused her of trying to sacrifice our child to Moremi.

"Are you saying I'm a bad mother?" "Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch a toddler every second of every day?" she shouted at me like my manager at work.

I suggested it might be easier if she spent less time debating BBN housemates with her Twitter friends and more time, oh I don't know, actually watching our son. But I have learned that logic and my wife go together about as well as garri and palm oil.

Then there was the great stovetop incident of last month.

I came home to find the kitchen filled with smoke, my wife fanning at our glass-top stove with a dishcloth.

You won’t have guessed what happened.

Apparently, she decided to cook vegetables directly on the stovetop. No pot. No pan. Just leaves sizzling away on the glass surface.

"I was trying a new recipe!" she protested when I asked what in the name of the gods she was thinking. "The blog said to cook the vegetables on high heat!"

I took a deep breath like a supervisor when he had just finished listening to a terrible project defense, channeling the patience of a thousand ancestors. "Sweetheart," I said, as calmly as I could manage, "when recipes say that, they generally assume you're using some kind of cookware."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me stupid?"

And there it was.

The minefield I step into every time I try to address these... let's call them quirks. Any suggestion, no matter how gently phrased, is met with defensiveness sharper than my mother's best paring knife.

More often than not, I find myself lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling fan as it whirs above us.

I think about the bright-eyed girl I fell in love with, the one whose laugh could light up a room. I wonder where she went, and when she was replaced by this doppelganger who seems to view me as her personal enemy.

Some days, I feel the love I have for her slipping away, like sand through an hourglass.

I catch myself daydreaming about a life where I don't have to constantly be on guard like Arsenal supporters trying to defend why they have never won the UCL.

Where I can come home and relax instead of wondering what new disaster awaits me.

But then my son will come up to me, arms outstretched, babbling "Daddy!" And I'll see my wife eyes in his face, her smile on his lips.

In those moments, I remember why I fell in love with her in the first place.

She called earlier today, her voice tight with that usual tone that always spells trouble. "We need to talk," she said.

Those four words hang in the air as I write this on my laptop.

I know for sure when I get home that I will sit in the car for a long moment, gathering my courage. Whatever awaits me behind that door, I know it will test the very foundations of our marriage.

Made up story

Bro sorry to say you are a sissy, a sissy is a woman pleaser. Try to be a man and stop overthinking. When you are too sissy for a woman they get so irritated easily. Your wife called you, "we need to talk" then next thing you are already wimping like a 5yr old kid. You even referred to her when lashed at you and you said she did like your Mom's would. Oga stop this sissy and simping attitude.

Stop being afraid of your wife, stop all this sweet and over romantic attitude. Calling your wife sweetheart even when she's about burning the house or always on the social media isn't a sign of a strong man. Your wife would cheat on you fast before you know it. Ty to be a man and stop being a weakling. Stamp your authority Oga.

You married a woman that has unresolved physiological or mental issues with males in her life before she met you.

Maybe she has been a victim of abuse from her father, brother, uncle or a male figure she once trusted.

When she is triggered maybe by tone of your voice, you automatically become that individual who has hurt her in the past.

She may have to go for counseling and it will take some time for her to get over her past.
It may even be she witnessed in the past an abuse by a man on someone she loves like her mom for example and vows not to allow such in her marriage.
If your marriage is to survive, you guys will have a heart to heart talk.

Your home is your sanctuary and after the stress of work, you should always look forward to going home and not the inverse.

Until this matter is resolved, never have a second child in this marriage.

Sapasenator:
You married a woman that has unresolved physiological or mental issues with males in her life before she met you.

Maybe she has been a victim of abuse from her father, brother, uncle or a male figure she once trusted.

When she is triggered maybe by tone of your voice, you automatically become that individual who has hurt her in the past.

She may have to go for counseling and it will take some time for her to get over her past.
It may even be she witnessed in the past an abuse by a man on someone she loves like her mom for example and vows not to allow such in her marriage.
If your marriage is to survive, you guys will have a heart to heart talk.

Your home is your sanctuary and after the stress of work, you should always look forward to going home and not the inverse.

Until this matter is resolved, never have a second child in this marriage.

And where did you get your degree in psychology? OP listen to this at your own risk

missjekyll:



And where did you get your degree in psychology? OP listen to this at your own risk

I have handled this situation in real life. You can talk to me and I can provide accurate advice. Let the op discuss further with his wife and you will realize I am right.

Coolsat:
God knows I can't tolerate a spoilt brat as wife all in the name of marriage. I no kuku see seperation as anything. If you ain't making me happy then make everybody dy go . Will not live my life in agony to please any daughter of eve

What that I keep telling my live ….. I told her if she change like Nollywood house wife I will leave the house and she will never see me again .

Coolsat:
God knows I can't tolerate a spoilt brat as wife all in the name of marriage. I no kuku see seperation as anything. If you ain't making me happy then make everybody dy go . Will not live my life in agony to please any daughter of eve

I don talk this thing. I no see divorce as big deal. If you are not what I married I go leave u