If you’re new here, you’ll want to read all my Type A wife and mom posts. We really gotta stick together.
“I’m going to go play ultimate frisbee with the guys today at 3,” said my husband.
“Sounds good,” I said, thinking it’d be good for him to get some outdoor exercise.
After church we ate lunch, put all the kids to bed, and I laid down.
Soon enough, he went to play frisbee.
After an hour or two of napping, I started to feel ill. Not horrible, just unwell. I was looking forward to my husband’s return so I could rest a bit longer before dinner without all 4 kids leeching on my leg.
And then he came home.
And I told him I wasn’t well.
And then he told me…
“I’ve got a migraine coming on.”
Many wives would have felt great pity at this remark. Laid their husband down with a warm towel, some drugs, and ushered the kids to the other side of the house.
But not me.
I got mad.
I got mad because I’m a Type A woman and we hate to be inconvenienced
Typical, I whispered to myself. I knew he’d be pitiful for a few hours so I rallied my too-swollen-to-be-only-27-weeks pregnant body and took a walk around our pond for fresh air. The kids played outside then we ate dinner together. I did not feel good, but it wasn’t all that bad.
I let the kids run around squealing in the house near my husband without giving it much thought, and sat in rocking chairs with my mother and grandmother.
My mother said, “What’s wrong with Matt?“
“What happened?” she asked.
“I told him I didn’t feel good, so he got a migraine.”
My grandmother had a good laugh at this cause she was married to my grandfather for 50 years and, well, she knows what I’m talking about. I told them men don’t even let you get well before they announce they are afflicted with much worse.
I can be critical because I’m a Type A woman and we don’t like weakness
My mother, who’s a saint, helped with bedtime. We got all 4 kids got to bed without anything shattering or being throw into the toilet, and all the kids even got bedtime snuggles, kisses, and the songs I made up for them.
As I settled down to start reading a novel, my husband comes out of the room. His eyes are a tad red, but it’s clear he’s rallying.
“How convenient,” I thought, “the migraine is miraculously is cured when the bedtime routine is over.”
I didn’t say anything because, though I am opinionated, I’m not stupid. I went on about my business. But I was annoyed.
I am easily annoyed because I’m a Type A woman and we need things to go to plan
The next morning something fun happened. A video crew came over on behalf of Miracle-Gro to shoot a promotional video of the kids and I in the garden. I was prepared for mayhem and mania and was pleasantly surprised the kids were on their best behavior and actually enjoyed the whole thing.
Then it ran a bit long. The kids had fun, but were worn out. We were outside in the heat, then late for a rest which meant the kids were overtired and… well… they didn’t nap. And I couldn’t sleep. And then…
Lo and behold…
I got a migraine.
My first one ever. Nevermind that I had stuff to do and can’t take proper headache medicine since I’m With Child. I nearly had a panic attack in reaction to getting a migraine. Why?
I’m a Type A woman and we hate things derailing our productivity
A few minutes later my husband comes home. I tell him I have a migraine.
“He better not instantaneously develop scarlet fever,” I thought to myself. This throb was Serious Business.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he brought me the baby for a calm cuddle.
And he kept the big kids away from my room.
Then he cooked dinner so I didn’t have to get on my feet.
And he told me to go to bed in the dark room so I’d feel better.
He didn’t judge me because he’s Type B and he’s quick to give the benefit of the doubt
He put all the kids to bed with the help of my mom, who’s a saint, and let me lie in dark peaceful silence. He didn’t huff, puff, or give a guilt trip. He got annoyed with the kids because they’d been abducted by aliens and returned completely unruly, exhausted, and Past the Point. But even then, he didn’t come get me.
All the kids got to bed and the house grew quiet and there were no expectations on me and then, something miraculous happened.
My migraine went away.
It slows to a dull ache and I emerge from the dark bedroom ready for the dinner I’d missed. And what do I get from my husband?
He’s just happy I feel better.
But I don’t. I feel bad. I feel bad because I’m a cold-hearted Type A woman who needs the world to work her way or she loses the plot. Sure, I love deeply and affectionately and cry at the drop of a hat and would do anything for my family… but when it counts, I have a long way to go.
No, I still can’t abide Man Flu.
But maybe, just maybe, I’ll start to give others the benefit of the doubt more. Maybe I won’t assume people purposefully do things to give me an eye twitch. I’ll try to do better.
And I probably will… because Type A women do what they set their mind to.
I hope you know I don’t think all Type A women are really heartless. But if you can’t admit you’ve got a stubborn fiery streak, you’re probably a blessed Type B :). But did you know there are four main temperaments?
Loosely speaking, two different Type A’s and two different Type B’s? Each has their own strengths and struggles, and each are a blessing to their families.
I’ve created a short e-course for moms to help you learn your own personality, see why it’s a good thing, how it blesses your family, and give you some tools to help you overcome your struggles. Click here or on the image below and sign up for free :).
I’ve created a free email series just for you! I believe our personalities dramatically affect how we parent and mother. And that’s a good thing! No more feeling guilty you don’t seem to have the strengths of Mrs. Stepford or Mrs. Jones. You are unique and you have specific strengths you bring to your family!
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- you’ll know your unique personality and what strengths you possess
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- you’ll kick mommy guilt to the curb because you’ll no longer be a slave to the comparison trap
Click here to sign up for my free email series or simply click on the image below.
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