Know Your Role

I've scrambled eggs and fried up some turkey bacon, and I haven't even been here two hours. Don't butter his toast. I'll butter it, but I refuse to put jam on it. He can put his own damn jam on his toast. And I'm NOT washing these dishes. That's not my role anymore. I place both of the plates on the table, with the jar of strawberry preserves (humph!) "Thank you, babe" he says, after he finishes his breakfast. I can feel my temples begin to tense up, and I physically shudder. I am not your baby. I take the dishes into the kitchen and place them in the sink. As I turn on the water I am reminded of what used to be.
Cook.
Serve.
Clean. I catch a glimpse of my reflection standing at the kitchen sink in the window. Rather than filling the sink with water, I fill my tea kettle instead. Within moments I'll be sipping tea out of my favorite mug and slipping into a cat nap. As soon as I feel my eye lids getting heavy, I hear the water running in the kitchen sink. Rest commences.