This weekend, undue stress was put on my marriage. We bought and moved furniture.
I have to give us props, normally making big purchases is not exactly our strong suit. We were out shopping. I saw a dresser I loved and it was easy. Within a matter of minutes it was decided, we were purchasing the dresser and a nightstand. No second guessing myself, no convincing my husband to agree to the purchase. Cake.
The challenge was yet to come.
We decided to forgo store delivery. First mistake.
In the moments before we drove to pick up the dresser my husband suggested maybe we ask a friend for help getting the dresser from the car up the stairs. I grew up on a farm carrying 50lb bags of feed and bales of hay daily. Him and I alone moved a 427lb, big ass computer cabinet up to our second floor apartment at least twice. It was a bitch, but we did it. It's been said I'm freakishly strong and ridiculously stubborn. I instantly shot him down. Second mistake.
Getting the large, boxed up dresser from the car to our second floor bedroom sounded like this...
"This is really going to be heavy, I'm not sure you're going to be able to do this."
"I'll be fine let's just go."
"Wait. Stop. Switch with me. I don't want to go backwards."
"You could talk to me nicer. I don't appreciate it." This was dear husband. I'm not exactly sure what I sounded like but he said it to me no less than twice during the incident.
"I can't see anything. You have to tell me when I'm going to run into something."
"I can't see what you're running into. Are you going to be able to do this or not?"
"You can't just drop it like that!"
"Sorry, I couldn't go anymore."
"You have to warn me. You're going to hurt my back."
"You're tilting it! Stop tilting it! It's going to fall! You can't tilt it like that."
"I can't do this. I can't get it up the steps."
"Just get out of the way. Help support it. I'm gonna rotate it up the steps...like its doing a cartwheel."
"Can you go clear a path upstairs?"
"Why didn't you clear a path upstairs? How do you think we are going to get it past all of K's shit in the hall?"
"I don't know. I was feeding our daughter. Someone has to, you know."
"You can't just stop like that. Just get it up to the landing and then we can rest."
"I can't do it. My forearm hurts. The box is rubbing it raw."
"Okay, let me go first."
"Stop, stop. You're hitting the wall! Damn! Look at that scuff mark you just put on the wall."
"Whatever. It's no big deal. Its just paint."
"Okay one step at a time."
"Yowl! That was my finger. Ohh, my finger."
"Well what are you doing?"
"I dunno. I'm doing the best I can! I'm not sure what you expected! I'm 110lbs!"
"Just get it to the top and we can rest."
"STOP! You just punctured the box. I hope you didn't scratch it."
"Right, I did that. Uh huh. Right."
"Can't we just slide it down the hall on the rug? I don't think I can do this." At this point, I felt slightly similar to how I felt after 20 hours of labor and 4 hours of pushing...I doubted my ability to finish the job. I wanted help. I needed help. But just like childbirth, I got myself into the situation, I was going to have to get myself out.
"Just lift it up and carry it."
"I can't. When I bend down to pick it up, it rests on my knees and then I can't stand back up."
"Well then don't bend down. Come on. Just do it."
And within seconds, it was in our bedroom. Just like that the horror was over.
I learned I don't like moving heavy, awkward objects with my husband. It's not good for either of us. Him and I could never win Amazing Race, for sure we would kill each other.