This is as real as it gets. A bare-my-soul letter to my husband about life, parenting, sex and the raging bitch I’ve become.
There was a time for us when things were simple. Before kids, before life as we now know it. That seems like so long ago. Now we’ve got a toddler and another bundle of joy that will be here in just a few short weeks. Add to that the laundry list of chores that haunt us daily, and the mounting piles of chaos that have seeped into our lives. Things are anything but simple. And for that husband, I’m sorry, not sorry.
This pregnancy compared to the one I experienced with our daughter is so drastically different. You’ve watched my belly grow with me. This time around, my size at 26 weeks was the size I was the night before our daughter was born. With that comes all the grunting uncomfortableness (I think I’m making that word up) that is the third trimester. Only more. There is more of me, more of him.
And oh the hormones. Our daughter turned me into a crying ball of emotion. The smallest thing made me burst into tears. This time around, its anger. In a second I will snap and have no control over it. I realize it only after and think to myself “What the fuck did I just do?”. Our lives would be easier if I didn’t let my pride get in the way, but it often does. Not just for the sake of being prideful, but because I don’t want to admit things get the best of me.
I’ve spent my life being in control of my emotions. In the time that has passed since I was pregnant with our daughter, that is the furthest from true, and I still have a hard time accepting and dealing with that fact.
The truth? I’ve become a bi-polar emotional basket case, aka a raging bitch, all in one pregnant little package. And it sucks.
It sucks for me, and it sucks for you too, because like you’ve said, you have to deal with me, and you’re right.
Add to that a steady plateau of nothingness that is my sex drive. Since before our daughter was born 16 months ago, you’ve begged, pleaded and it just isn’t there. You know it isn’t you. I’ve told you that. I’m as attracted to you (and much more) as the day we first met, but it just isn’t there for me. That drive, it’s vanished. And while internally I search day in and day out for it, it escapes me over and over again. I know one day it will return, so please continue to be patient with me.
Everything just moves so fast now. We both work full time, and only have a few precious hours at night with our daughter before she drifts off to dreamland. And most nights, by the time she’s asleep I’m ready for bed too. It seems like just going through the daily motions of what needs to be done takes its toll.
Don’t even get me started on the fact that I couldn’t tell you the last time I actually slept through the night. It’s a fond, distant memory.
You do have to admit, we’re rocking this whole being parents thing. We’ll never have all the answers and Google has become our best friend, but we’ve got a pretty good handle on things. Now, let’s see if I can say that once our daughter is a teenager…
I know that everything I do is for our family. Everything you do is for our family. We both have the same goal, we often just have 2 very different ways of getting there.
But that doesn’t mean I want to live like we’re waiting for the kids to grow so that we can move on. That isn’t life, that isn’t us.
Look how much we’ve been through in our years together. All of the ups and downs. What’s a few more?
I had never truly experienced love until I met you, and for that I will be forever thankful. And between diaper changes, swollen feet and fits of rage I do remember that. Even if it doesn’t seem like it most of the time. I’ll be honest, the hormones, the never-ending list of to-do’s and the internal war I’m waging with my emotions get in the way most of the time.
Some day this will all be a distant memory and hopefully one we can look back on and laugh. And long before our children are grown.
So husband, I’m sorry, not sorry. I’m sorry for what I’m putting you through. I’m sorry that I can’t help it, and I’m sorry that many times I’m too stubborn to admit it.
I’m not sorry for the ridiculous amount of love that I feel for you and our family. I’m not sorry for sharing this crazy life with you and I’m not sorry that our ride together has only just begun.
Oh yeah, and I’m sorry for the raging bitch thing. 🙂