So it seems that everyone on the planet is out there planning or preparing for baby #2, and I’m still sitting over here trying not to let baby #1-and-only destroy everything from the house to my marriage. So that’s fun.
I won’t lie. I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster for a while, now. I don’t know if I’m going to do a very good job of conveying the mess that’s inside my head, but I’m going to try.
I am head over heels in love with my little girl. I love being a mom. The highs are everything I ever hoped they’d be. The lows are another story. I mean, I imagined the lows. I did. I just don’t think you can truly understand them until you’re in the trenches.
And that’s where I am today. In the trenches.
I don’t really struggle to mom. I mean, I have my moments. God, do I have my moments. But overall, I’ve got this. Diapers, tantrums, sleepless nights—you can’t break me, kid. (Um… mostly.)
I do, however, struggle to wife. I also struggle to be wifed. (I know I am making up verbs here, but you get it, right?)
Momming pretty much takes every ounce of energy we have these days. We try to spread what’s left between our full-time jobs and our house. It doesn’t really leave anything for us. By the time the kid is in bed, we are freaking tired. I don’t expect that is unique to us.
Mostly, we’re pretty accepting that this is just how it’s going to be for a while. There are moments, though, when it’s all just too much or not enough and we feel pretty lonely despite being inches away from each other.
Our pre-child life was not very child-friendly, and we spent ten years enjoying that life together. There was disposable income (eventually—not at first) and weekends away and wine and cooking up a storm for well-fed late nights with friends. We tried, but failed to insert our baby into that life. Instead, we found ourselves building a new life–and I think we’ll both readily admit that we’re not very good carpenters.
Someday, we will have our disposable income back. Someday, there will be weekends away and wine will flow from bottles that cost more than $8.99 and won’t languish barely touched in the refrigerator until they turn to vinegar. Someday, our daughter will be thrilled at the prospect of a weekend with her grandparents. Someday, my boobs will be fun again.
In the meantime, we keep trying. We keep trying as hard as we are capable of trying. Because us is worth it. Because 11 years of shared history is special. Because we’re still in there. Somewhere.