Tag: family

Please Don’t Forget Me!

In the challenging and mundane moments that are parenthood, it’s often hard to remember the times when we were just us. You, Me – Us. Partners! Hours of freedom to do what we like – listening to and responding to our own needs as they transpire. Trips away to paradise- to cities- exploring, playing and just being. Weekends filled with passion- limbs intertwined in every room of the house and him- devoted entirely to me – only me- and looking at me with eyes that so clearly convey that I am the person who brings him the most joy and fulfilment. I am happiness. I am love. I am peace. I am his safe place. Pure contentment. And then I’m not. 

Having a child is no doubt the most challenging hurdle that any couple can encounter.  I am still coming in for landing twenty months into the journey.  I knew parenthood would bring us a myriad of challenges, but I did not prepare myself for facing the fact that I am now number two in his life. Having a daughter to the man you love is a combination of complete joy and satisfaction, mixed with disconnect, loneliness and dubiety. 

Perhaps this is just my own experience and my own insecurities, but ever since becoming a mum, I have felt like less of a partner. No, I am not competing with my daughter because I am emotionally mature enough to know that the way he loves me is not the way he loves her. But I can feel that things are different and I am smart enough to know that getting his attention and his complete focus these days requires work, a huge amount of selflessness and some tact.  I am smart enough to know that not all relationships last the distance, and that entering the realm of parenthood can make or break a partnership, no matter how solid the foundation. 

It’s not easy this motherhood thing. Last night I went out to dinner with my mothers group ladies. I returned home at 11pm tired and depleted because socialising is, well… social. Husband asked me for back scratches (his love language), but I reactively and aggressively rejected him because I was counting down the seconds until my head would hit the pillow and I needed to maximise my sleep for the night in order to be a fully functioning mother from 530am for a full day of intense toddler fun. These days I prioritise myself and unfortunately, the result of that is that I am not as smitten and devoted to my man as I used to be. The flow-on effect? Our relationship suffers. He suffers. Pre baby, I was borderline obsessed with my husband. I was at his beck and call with a sex drive that was literally ‘on-tap’. He used to make my limbs shake. He was a drug. Goosebumps, heart flutters, dripping p*&$y- the works. I would get withdrawals if a certain number of days went by where we did not ‘connect’ and then I would do anything and everything for his attention. As soon as he gave me a hit of his attention and physical touch (my love language), my nervous system calmed down. If he did not give me a hit, my cortisol levels would rise and I would find myself a complete emotional mess.

 I am sure my attachment style has a lot to do with my relationship with my own father. These days I am more securely attached, but not by choice. My secure attachment is more to do with the fact that I need a bit less from a man since becoming a mother and I am craving being on my own a lot more these days due to the demands of motherhood. I am also hyper aware of my own journey and why I am who I am as a mother and wife – why I do the things I do. And so I am also reluctant to challenge my husband and beg for his attention when he is so devoted to his own baby girl instead of me. In fact, I actually want this devotion for her. I see the way he adores her. But I am also entirely absorbed by my own feelings because I had him and now I feel like I do not. I notice how he does not hear me when she is engaging him. I notice the empty silence and single word responses when I express my emotions. I notice the days where he does not kiss me goodbye or greet me hello  and the times where I am talking to myself and no one is listening.  I do not feel heard, held or noticed and I crave all of this so much. I deserve this so much.

I get why relationships – why marriages fail. I get why people cheat. I have ticked off all of the above. One minute you’re entirely devoted, the next minute you’re feeling flat, undesirable and literally craving attention- any attention! Some other person is interested in you and bang! A fire inside you lights up. And so the demise begins. 

Dear Husband, please don’t forget me. I adore how you adore your baby girl. It brings me so much pleasure, particularly as I have no memory of my own father adoring me this way. Every little girl craves for her father to be devoted to her and the way that you ravish our girl is exactly as it should be. But me – your wife. I need more. I deserve more. Because I am still the baby girl that was not ravished by her own father. There is a little girl inside me and she is still hurting. She craves to be adored, loved unconditionally, desired and touched. She craves to be the centre of attention and for your eyes to be glazed over as you look at her. Darling husband, please look at me with admiration the same way you used to- before her. I know that you cannot replace what I have not been blessed with prior to our partnership, but I do know that you can cherish my commitment to you better and with more zest and more dedication. I do not need to be pushed aside because you have a new ‘love’. Love me- as I am- with her. Love us together because ultimately, you and me – we ARE her...

…Until Next Time…

H.V.G.

X.O.X.O

Would You Like Seconds With That?

Photo by Vidal Balielo Jr. on Pexels.com

Nothing irritates me more than being asked if I would like anything else when I’ve only just taken the first bite of my meal. Let me taste my food, chew, swallow, take a moment to digest, and THEN you can ask me if I would like ‘contorni’, ‘secondi’ or ‘dolci’. Nothing chokes me up more than being abruptly asked when am I having a second child.

Like so many women these days, I chose to put certain priorities ahead in my twenties and early thirties such as career and travel. I was never the ‘motherly’ type by definition and for most of my teenage and adult life, I envisaged a future of work, travel and fur babies. In fact, for a long time, having children was a hard no. If someone asked me the dreaded ‘do you want children?’ question, I  would swiftly brush it off. All around me though, I am surrounded by what I call ‘superwomen’. By my definition, ‘Superwomen’ are not those working mums who step out of the house five days a week and drop their bub at daycare. Let’s be honest here mums, what’s more challenging on the soul and psyche? Eight hours of mothering or eight hours of work? Yes- ‘Superwomen’ are those mum’s who are fully- and I mean FULLY immersed in motherhood. They are there all day every day every day and  they do not need to ‘escape’. They are there. Just like our mum’s, they don’t work because motherhood is their life, their job and their soul purpose. There is no Au Pair- they are home bodies and they do it all. In fact, many I know don’t even own gym memberships and Instead they squat at home with their baby’s held to their chest, followed by the proud Instagram post. These women always dreamed of a life filled with multiple dimpled butts and gummy smiles. While I was busy planning the next trip, changing my career for the third time and dancing until 4am, some of my closest women- the ‘superwomen’ of my world were growing humans and leading a life that I could never imagine myself living.  I guess I kind of assumed that I wouldn’t take the path to motherhood ever, because as I passed the age of 30, my priorities didn’t shift and while I had always been a romantic, getting married was a given, but having children was not. 

Becoming a mum did happen for me- it was a huge decision, and even then, I never really fully ‘made the decision’. In my early thirties, I developed mixed thoughts and feelings around ‘potential’ motherhood. After a visit with a very abrupt gynaecologist at 33  to get an IUD, I was told my egg count was ‘low’. For a 33 year old, this is a confronting statement, and because I wasn’t ‘there’ yet, I just accepted the comments and trusted that the universe would give me what I needed. Being someone who prefers the natural approach to so many things in life, freezing my eggs was not an option. As I also believe in the old adage ‘things happen for a reason’, it was easy to develop the mindset that if I wasn’t cut out to be a mum, then I wasn’t cut out to be a mum. 

When I fell pregnant at 35 after only one month off the pill,  it was a shock. And while I had decided that I was excited to take the next step with my partner, I didn’t exactly feel ecstatic to be pregnant. My first words were ‘oh fuck’ followed by tipping out the bottle of wine on the kitchen bench and a phonecall to my best girlfriend where I proceeded to say ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck i’m fucking pregnant’. But I promptly accepted the gift that is life and immersed myself in the journey of motherhood. I treasured that tiny soul inside of me like she was my universe and I even enjoyed the journey of pregnancy. Yes, I was finally at a stage in my life and relationship where I felt comfortable in all aspects of my life. My career was established, I was fit and healthy and I had done the work. 

Fast forward eighteen months into my motherhood journey, and the question of number two lingers, heightened by the external nudges. I am so aware of my age and my mental note to self to have a cut-off age for motherhood. My body still feels in 15% recovery mode and in between feelings of groundhog day, partial longing for my previous life, sense of discipline (and body), I am more than filled to the brim. My daughter continues to surprise me every day and I am falling more and more in love and awe as I watch her evolve and grow. As for number two though, unless you are a ‘superwoman’, how does one decide that two is the right path? Maybe if I had the gift of time, that is, if I were in my early thirties, I could grapple more with this concept, but between the on and off sleep deprivation and feelings of overwhelm, I feel like the moments where I desire to have a newborn again are fleeting. Get it out of the way? Ha. Occasionally (usually when I am ovulating), I get intense feelings of wanting to be pregnant again and to add to our family,  but then it’s like I snap out of it and reality kicks in. With the growing chaos in the world and the small feats that make me identify as ‘me’ again, I am truly torn. There is so much that I want to do. So much. The things that make me happy to my core include hiking, yoga, travel, attending music festivals and having a job that I enjoy. Not exactly the perfect list of core interests to accessorise with a baby. And when I dream of the future, there is no concrete vision of what family looks like. I have only the examples portrayed by my beautiful mumma and my sister, who both chose to have tribes. 

One? Two? It’s a constant game of tennis and I feel like I am stuck in the net. This is not a light decision for me and as many of you reading this probably know, this pivotal decision changes lives- for better or for worse. For some, embarking on the second child journey leads to a complete loss of self, loss of intimacy, life purpose and even failed marriages. For others, they wouldn’t have it any other way. Their children complete them. Whichever way you look at it, this decision forces me to assess two different identities and the prospect of two completely different life paths. If I could program my ovaries to procreate the cutest little blonde boy with bulging blue eyes and the gentlest of personalities to replace my late brother Henry, then maybe, just maybe I’d go again. But for now, life challenges me. I am a deer in the headlights and eventually, the decision may just be made- FOR me and not BY me.

Until Next Time….

xoxoxo H.V.G.