I want a dog. As in really. The gap that Fenriz left when he died earlier this year is simply immense. I've always had a dog in my life. The plan is to get a rescue dog that's hopefully under a year old yet The Husband has categorically declared we're not allowed one until next summer. The law hath spoken. Just like The Husband decided under no circumstances are we having any more spawn, despite knowing that my womb is simply howling for one more little womb dweller. I'm vastly deciding that The Husband is in actual fact, a bit of a git. Or at the very least a big meanie. No, I'll stick with Git. I had to near divorce him to get The Kitten.
Don't get me wrong, I adore The Felines, in rather fact I'd happily sneak one more in and hope The Husband doesn't notice but they're not a dog.
It would appear my two hearts desires are utterly and totally stone walled by Him Indoors who's decision is fucking final. It would be funny if the thought of no more babies, ever, didn't make my heart do this peculiar quiver and ache and make me want to scream or cry or something else similarly girly. Thankfully I'll do neither. Thanks Zoloft.
I rather suspect sneaking one more baby in would be somewhat more difficult than a kitten. Arse. It's not like he wouldn't have nine months for the idea to grow on him, you know, a bit like a rash but fatter.
I understand his reasons, oh I do. They even make an iota of sense yet it doesn't stop the longing, the wanting, the needing. Nor the little bubbles of anger that threaten to encapsulate all my words when I think about it all.
If I didn't love him so much, I'd hate him.