To The Husband Who Had to Love Me Enough For Us Both

 

 It’s February and the only thing that happens in February (other than me being so over winter) is Valentine’s Day. So naturally this month love seems like an appropriate blog topic.

My husband and I were never very big on Valentine’s Day. Personally, we found it exhausting to fight crowds and eat pre-fixed menus (let me order what I want!) just so we can say we celebrated the “day of love.” Typically, I’d make something a little more special than my usual frozen pizza for dinner and we’d call it a day.

 This year Valentine’s Day will be a little different. We still aren’t going anywhere, but it also happens to be our daughter’s half birthday. Six months of parenthood behind us and a life time to go.

 Having a baby has really changed our dynamic. In the same way that we had to learn to be boyfriend-girlfriend, then fiancés, then husband-wife, we are now learning to be mom-dad. However, unlike all of those other phases of life we didn’t stop one type of relationship to start another, we simply added to the one we already had. We never stopped being husband and wife.

 Confession time. Loving me lately is probably not the easiest thing my husband has ever done. In fact, I’d wager this was harder than any class, job, or personal Mt. Everest he’s felt the need to conquer.

 I’ve struggled with the new me in more ways than I can count. My body still feels like a foreign country even 6 months postpartum. My stomach is softer and rounder and my pants are tighter. I’ve gained more weight since having a child than I did while pregnant. I’m a stress eater and boy have I been stressed.

 I’m also painfully introverted. Those monks that take vows of silence and spend all day in their rooms reading and writing? Sign a girl up! Being the mother of an infant is exhausting for someone like me. I desperately need the time to myself to unwind or I fall apart. These days that time doesn’t exist. I mean, I guess it could if I was willing to forgo the little sleep I get. I’m not. The days that the naps are non-existent and the crying is constant my husband comes home to a complete basket case.

  I was also lucky enough to suffer through postpartum depression. A topic I hope to write more on when I’m ready. Right now, I still can’t see the forest through the trees. I’m working on it one step and one day at a time but the struggle has been immeasurable.

   I feel like a shadow of my former self. I was never really one for heavy makeup and hair. I thought (and still do think) there is no reason to spend an hour and a half getting ready for a 30-minute trip to the grocery store, but now I wager if the extra 10 minutes in the shower to shave my legs is really time well spent. I fall into bed exhausted at the end of every day and smiling and laughing take more effort than they ever have before (again, postpartum depression – I am steadily working on it).

 Throw all of this on top of the fact that I’m my number one critic (a very harsh critic at that) and you’ll see a woman who can barely like herself, let alone love herself.

   That’s where my husband has come in. He doesn’t do anything spectacular. I hate it when people call their husbands amazing for doing the dishes, like dude, you live here too. No, he only did what he’s supposed to do. He took the baby from my arms and rocked her when I had had enough. He encouraged me to rest when he was home. He cleaned the house, he fed her in the middle of the night, and the list goes on. Still it had to be hard. He had (and still has) to love me enough for us both. Without him, I wouldn’t be making it.

 Without him telling me I’m beautiful with my gray roots and bags so deep under my eyes you could put your loose change in there, without him saying “no – it’s my night to wash bottles”, without his constant reminder that I’m a good mom and she’s doing just fine, I would already have buried myself under the sheets determined to never rise again.  While new motherhood has caused me to cry more, eat more, and scream into a pillow more, it hasn’t broken me. It hasn’t broken me because he’s loved me enough for us both.

  The old me is gone, just like the old me has been gone before. This season of life is taking a little more time to adjust to but it will come. I have the determination every day to bring myself one step closer to figuring out who this new me is. I have the courage to trust myself. I have the humility to admit a bad day and the strength to try again tomorrow all because he’s loved me enough for us both.

 I don’t thank him a lot. Usually I cry or stare off into space sighing and saying “WHAT?!” when he interrupts the 2 minutes of silence I was having.  (I told you I wasn’t making it easy on him.) So, because it’s Valentine’s Day, and because I don’t say it enough, here it is in writing and immortalized in the world wide web where nothing ever dies. (kids remember that – nothing on the internet ever goes away)

Thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for being a dad. Thank you for being a husband. Thank you for loving me enough for us both until I can do it again.

  *A special note to my Mom who just finished reading this: I’m fine, I swear. This is stuff you already knew, just in writing. I. AM.Fine. 🙂*