Yesterday was one of my bad days--the kind when I'm silently moving around the house and the tears just don't stop. This wasn't that uncommon when I was pregnant. I did struggle a lot with post-partum depression, but I don't think that's what this was. I think this was genuine grief.
Before you read on, I want to warn you that you might think I'm ridiculous or maybe I'm a brat. However, I'm being honest and these are the things that matter to me.
From the time I entered kindergarten, I always wanted to be a teacher. I knew somewhere deep within that I was supposed to teach. And then sometime in high school I thought I should be a missionary or join the Peace Corps. I could picture myself in a sharp business suit, the head CEO of some fancy company, nailing deals. Then I thought I'd be a truck driver, cruising the interstates with a dog named Wingo, exploring our beautiful country. At one point, I even thought I'd like to be a minister, but I also knew I wasn't called to lead a church. I don't know why, but I really had it in my head that someday I was going to be off on some great adventure. I might get married. That was a big maybe. I'd never thought seriously about having children. It was one of those "someday" things that I thought I'd do in my 30s.
I was a wild child in high school. I was the untameable, ungettable girl. If a guy dated me for a month, he was lucky. I just got bored easily. I desired a boyfriend, some sort of companionship, but I just wasn't a committer. Maybe it was my great ambition that was holding me back, maybe it was my eating disorder or my major trust issues, but whatever it was I just didn't see myself dating, getting engaged, and settling down into a home with a husband.
Within a month of my freshman year at college, I met a young man who captured my interest and my heart. We liked the same things, he had a great sense of humor, and we really hit it off. I fell hard for this guy. Within six months, we were dreaming about our wedding and what we would name our children. We had these fabulously fun camping trips, would take long drives and sing in the car, and would just spend all day and night together. We were truly happy.
We went on like this for about two years. Then I'm not exactly sure what happened, but he changed. His friends started teasing him that he was whipped, and suddenly he was ditching me when we made plans. Things were pretty rocky and we were arguing a lot, but we moved in together anyway.
Then things really got weird. He started acting differently, he was angry all the time, accusing me of cheating on him and lying to him. I wasn't, and I couldn't convince him of my love or loyalty. Shortly after, we had an argument and he hit me across the face. It had been the first time a man had laid a hand to me as an adult. I said I was done. I wasn't going to stay in a relationship with a man who hit me. That statement just pushed him over the edge, and before I knew it, we were in an all-out fist fight. I ended up grabbing my keys and running out of the apartment as fast as I could.
I later went back to the apartment. He was all apologies, but I knew that it was the end. I told him he needed to move out. It took him a month to find another place to live, and that month was filled with more nights like the one described above. I won't go into details, but it was very ugly. I kept extra clothes in my car and spent nights forty-five minutes away at my grandparents' house whenever I needed to. Within a year of our break up, I found out that he had started doing drugs before we moved in together and had then moved on to Meth and Cocaine when we were living together.
I immediately rebounded to another guy. I'm not sure why. I was so heartbroken and so hurt and angry. Looking back, I realize I was looking for comfort, but it wasn't a healthy form of comfort. I should have stayed single and taken some time to heal, be healthy, and find myself again. Instead, I shacked up with a really nice guy who just wasn't the right guy. We stayed together for two years and I thought of breaking up with him, but I just couldn't find a good reason. I didn't feel like I could leave.
At about the two year mark, I got pregnant. We had been taking measures of prevention, but it happened. My son's dad was thrilled; it took me a couple days to warm up to the idea. Then I felt a calling to be my child's mother. I had never felt anything like it before. I wasn't sure if I was going to stay with my boyfriend, but I was going to have that baby and be its mama. I loved my son before he was born and felt so drawn to him, even before I was showing.
My boyfriend and I got engaged and were going to get married when our son was about 15 months, but I got cold feet. I didn't want to marry him, and I felt like if I did, I'd be making a huge mistake. I knew all about mistakes with relationships with men and just couldn't bare to swallow that pill. I called off the wedding, even though the invitations had been mailed and we were getting response cards in the mail.
When my husband and I started dating, the rules were different. I had a child now. I was still in college, finishing my last year to get my degree and teaching certification. I needed someone serious. My husband was serious. He was fun, devoted, loving, loyal--a true family man.
He proposed a little after a year of dating and we set the date for nearly a year after the engagement. Don't get me wrong--there were some bumps. One of the major bumps was whether or not to have children. I had my Little Shaver and was quite content with him. He was beautiful and perfect. I hadn't really wanted to have kids and now I had one. That was enough. Aaron wasn't sure he could give up having children. He wanted to have three, including my son.
So I thought about it. I thought about my husband and how much I loved him. I thought about how well we got along, how great he was with my son, how loving he was. I thought about my son and how much I loved him. I hadn't been thrilled about getting pregnant, and he certainly wasn't planned. But my heart was his. Surely I could make room in my heart for another child. I decided that if I didn't have any more children, I'd be okay. And Aaron might be okay for a little while. But at some point, maybe five or ten years down the road, wouldn't he regret not having his own? Would he leave? After a lot of thinking, I decided that having one child with my husband was a sacrifice I was happy to make. A child would be a special gift for him and would never be a reason for me to leave or be unhappy.
We got pregnant on our honeymoon and I was a very unhappy pregnant woman, but Scout is truly a blessing. She's a good baby, beautiful, healthy. My son is thrilled to have a sister and my husband has completely melted. I love her with as much of my heart as my son.
But yesterday, while I was moving around the house, picking up toys, scrubbing the toilet, washing dishes, folding loads and loads of laundry, and trying to get the house ready for the next week so that our nanny has a clean work environment, it all just hit me. My big adventure dreams, my painting, my poetry, my carefree days, all long gone. Here I am wiping a loogie off the shower wall, which, by the way, I did not put there, my husband is in the living room happily watching baseball, and I've turned into a maid.
Before I know it, I'm sobbing, resentfully remembering my ruined canvases, my forgotten paints and brushes, my camping gear, as my husband sits on his butt. My James Joyce novels haven't been touched in years. I haven't checked out a library book in the last six months and been able to finish it. My writing--that book of short stories I wanted to write?--I don't even know which flash drive it's saved to anymore. Then I start thinking about our marriage. When's the last time we had a night to spend intimately without being disturbed by a nightmare or a hungry baby? Forget that, when's the last time he's done something sweet or thoughtful, just because? On and on it goes in my head. I'm exhausted from caring for the children, working two jobs, six days a week (yeah, I know I wasn't going to bartend anymore but when you can't afford new shoes for your kid, you'll do just about any job), making dinner every night, doing dishes, washing bottles and clothes. Then I'm thinking about how my husband "half-asses" everything. He puts away all the dishes except the silverware. He changes the baby's diaper but leaves the old diaper on the floor. He gives the baby a bottle, but always forgets to rinse out the finished ones and put them by the sink. He makes a pizza and forgets to turn off the oven. Four months before he proposed, we looked at rings and I showed him a very modest band and engagement ring that fit together for about $500. When he proposed, he gave me a sticky note that said he'd fallen for me and a ring he'd skipped his car payment for which was so far from anything I wanted that I literally cried from disappointment. When is it going to end? This is not what I signed up for.
I don't think my meltdown yesterday was just hormones or depression. I was grieving. I was grieving for the relationship my husband and I have lost, for the dreams I've abandoned, for the person I've become. I love my children and wouldn't trade them for anything. My husband is my family. I don't regret marrying him or having my babies. I just want my cake, and I want to eat it, too. The plans I had for my life were wonderful and beautiful, but sometimes that's just not how life works. Marriage and children are a commitment. They are a great source of happiness, but they also come with a hefty price tag.
I know in my heart that the things I wanted are petty. The cleaning is petty. Hobbies need to get put off for the well-being and raising of my children. It's not forever. Someday I'll get time to paint again. And I don't want to nag my husband for the little things he forgets. They all add up and make extra work for me, but it's not like he does it on purpose. He really does try.
I just feel like sometimes I need to let out my grief in a safe place. I can't discuss this with my husband. I've tried. He doesn't understand. So I'm putting it out there for strangers.
