It made him irritable and nervous, until I was _glad_ to have him go.

(Who wouldn't be, with his eternal repetition of "Mollie, _can't_ you stop that baby's crying ?" As if that wasn't exactly what I was trying to do, as hard as ever I could!) But Jerry didn't see it that way.

Jerry never did appreciate what a wonderful, glorious thing just being a father is.
I think it was at about this time that Jerry took up his painting again.

I guess I have forgotten to mention that all through the first two years of our marriage, before the baby came, he just tended to me.
He never painted a single picture.

But after Eunice came-- But, after all, what is the use of going over these last miserable years like this?
Eunice is five now.