Courtesy

I heard a story once about two Irish guys in a Dublin pub who were about to clink mugs after a toast. It's a sign of respect to keep your mug lower than the other guy's, communicating that you hold him in esteem and above yourself. Well, these two guys both wanted their mug to be the lower one. They began to argue as each lowered his mug at the same time, down to waist level, then knee level, and finally as each mug was nearly touching the floor, one guy got fed up and punched the other guy in the nose. That ended the courtesy contest.

They were best mates again a couple pints later.

Julie and I have a similar conflict at night. When Lyla wakes up at 3:00 AM and wants to be fed, I want to help. Sometimes I'm a little groggy, but I lurch into the nursery and earnestly ask the breastfeeding Julie if there's anything I can get for her. A glass of water? A blanket? A magazine? And she looks at me with hateful eyes and says, "Will you just leave?"

And I'm like, what the hell? What did I do wrong?

After having a civil daytime discussion with her about it, it turns out that she gets angry when I wake up because she wants to provide me with peaceful sleep. I'm the one working outside the house right now, the one who has to wake up early, she says. If she can tend to Lyla without waking me up, she feels like she's doing her job. So by trying to be a good husband, I make her feel like a bad wife.

Which is completely ass-bonkers. I sit in a classroom all day and chat with kids and occasionally tell them what to do. This does not require hours and hours of uninterrupted sleep. Plus, she already crabs at me for daytime infractions like bringing in the mail without sorting it. Must I also lose points at night for trying to be nice?

It's a new set of rules. One of us will have to yield eventually, but I don't think it'll be me. She gets to be in charge of Lyla's feeding schedule, but I get to be in charge of my own sleeping schedule. She doesn't get to lord over both. "You need your sleep!" Good grief, she's Lyla's mom, not mine. If I want to clink my proverbial mug beneath hers from time to time, then the daft lass better feckin' allow it.