Urban Drool

This past week has been a little better. And it was not until yesterday that I really realized why: It was one of the first times since returning to work that I have not felt so amazingly alone. The Boy and I had been concentrating so much on the day-to-day survival of our new-found parenthood that I think we were leaving some very important areas of our life sorely neglected. Namely: our marriage. Us, as in, an intimately connected couple.

Last Friday night, we finally started to scratch the surface as to what was making me crazy, what was making him crazy, why we both felt that neither one of us were really emotionally supporting the other the way we should. The way we used to. We didn’t solve the problem. But we finally admitted to one another that there WAS a problem and we able to identify it’s source.

Here is a breakdown as to what some of the past 8 weeks has been like in a He Said/She Said kind format:

ME: I don’t want to be back at work.

Him: He is overwhelmed at times, being the primary caregiver at home.

ME: I was finding it difficult to empathize and be supportive when he would show signs of needing to vent about being the sole servant of our little dictator, because I wanted what he had. Wanted it so badly.

Him: He was finding it difficult to listen to me constantly complain and sob about being away from her because there was nothing he could do about it. And a part of him is feeling guilty maybe? Guilty that we don’t have a more financially stable environment; one that would allow me to stay at home with the baby, or only working part time.

ME: I was resentful that he was not more sympathetic-oh-honey-I-KNOW-how-HARD-it-must-be-for-you-at-work towards me. Resentful that he was not greeting me at the door every evening with a box of Kleenex to wipe my teary eyes (HA!!).

Him: He was resentful that I could not really acknowledge the sacrifices that HE has been making - earning his MBA while taking care of our pickle. Being a wonderful father and learning how to wipe spit up, answer emails, sing songs and finish a corporate dossier all at the same time.

Basically, we have both been so wrapped up in our own damn misery to spend too much time worrying about/trying to soothe the other’s misery. I felt alone. He felt alone. I felt dis-connected from him and our family and in that, from the baby. He felt dis-connected because he does not really have a “peer group” to speak of. Our neighborhood is not exactly teeming with young, professional stay-at-home fathers. No one around to really vent frustrations to, including me, from whom he was purposely keeping his frustrations.

And there was the constant black cloud of our mutual psychological wounds which stemmed from my time in the hospital. I think, like me, the Boy just recently started to fully acknowledge how horrible the whole thing was.

But last Friday? A step forward. And every day since then? Another tiny step forward. I am making an effort to come home in a more positive frame of mind. He is making an effort to listen more productively when I need to vent. I am making an effort to get him to open up more and talk to me, even if the only thing he wants to talk about was how difficult the baby was that particular day. We smile more and hug more.

And yesterday we spent some time really talking about how we both felt about Lucy’s birth and the aftermath and how we both feel about a 2nd pregnancy and birth.

I guess I didn’t realize how desperately I was seeking some validation from him about what I went through to bring her into this world until last night. Last night he talked about how amazing he thought I was for what I withstood during the days/hours/minutes leading up to Lucy’s birth. And I know now that he doesn’t (and never did) blame me for what happened. I don’t know why I ever felt that he might.

I sat there, at the Olive Garden, holding my baby. With a half-eaten plate of tortolinni in front of me. I looked across the table at the one who has been there with me throughout this entire sequence of events. The one who was there for all the fear and blood and tears of pain and tears of joy. The one who takes the most precious care of our baby. The one that I trust with my life. So why on earth was I ever reluctant to trust him with my heart?

And I cried a little.

And I knew that it was all (eventually) going to be OK.

**apparently this was on the Boy's mind today as well. You should head over to his space (link to the left under "Da Boys" becuase I don't know how to put a link in my blog entries yet) and read all about me in "Crazy Wives." He is less charitable towards me in his post than I was towards him in this post but...oh, well. It's still a good read. Talk about a serious "He Said/She Said kinda thing, yes?"**