I have put up this blog to write down my thoughts about marriage and motherhood. But somehow all the articles I have been reposting have been about kids and parenting. I think it is timely I found an article about marriage, as this is equally (if not more) important. Our lives are so much different (but a fulfilling one I must say!) now, with kids and all. I wonder what would it be like to bring back the good old days..to be carefree and have so much time in our hands, even just for a day. That is why we make it a point to have a "couple only vacation" and date nights from time to time so we can spend quality time and reconnect with one another. I am planning to let my husband read this as well, just so he knows he his missed dearly! :)
'Dear Husband, Sometimes I Miss You'
by: Christine Organ
All those years ago, when we were fresh-faced and starry-eyed newlyweds with all the time in the world, there were so many things about marriage and parenting, and marriage while parenting, that I just didn’t understand. I didn’t know date nights would be playing Stratego late at night and Sunday night movies. I had no idea we would eventually create our own language of sighs, groans, and giggles to be substituted for entire sentences so that without saying a word, we would know exactly what each other is trying to say. And I didn’t think it would be possible to miss you so much even though I see you every day.
But it is. And I do.
I miss you.
Even though we live under the same roof, share a bed and a life, and try like hell to get some alone time every now and then, there are days and weeks and months when life gets in the way. Either you’re working long hours or I’m working long hours, or we’re both working long hours. We’re busy parenting and adulting and taking care of all the things. Tiny little humans who call us Mom and Dad clamor for our time and attention. Bosses and clients and deadlines call to us from our computer screens. Parents, siblings, and friends need and deserve our attention as well. We are pulled in a million different directions by a million different things and by the end of the day, it is all we can do to not to fall asleep on the couch while watching five minutes of Jimmy Fallon.
We know that our marriage is at the center of this little family of ours, and so we do our best to make time for each other. We plan date nights and stay up late watching a movie together. We splurge on the occasional kid-free vacation — a night here or an indulgently long weekend there. We “talk” via text and emails throughout the day. We check in with quick “how’s your day going?” and send each other silly memes on the days when the other could use a pick-me-up. We’ve learned to make not just the hours, but the minutes, count.
And still, there are times when I miss you.
There are days when I miss the long conversations about everything and nothing at all. When I miss lazy Sunday mornings in bed. When I miss being able to start a sentence and finish that same sentence without tiny voices interrupting us with “Guess what, Dad?” and “Mom, can I have…” When I miss taking the train home from work together and reading books together and going out for brunch together.
There are days when I miss seeing you and touching you and breathing the same air as you. When I miss knowing the simple details of your day, like what you ate for lunch and how long your commute took. When I miss the sound of your laugh.
There are days when I miss you.
You spend long hours doing hard and good work to provide for and take care of our family. You answer client emails and lead conference calls. You write legal documents and stand before judges in a courtroom. You put out fires and fight the good fight. And then you run to catch the commuter train so you can watch the second half of our son’s baseball game. You play with our younger son and ask him about his day. You spend a few hours breaking up fights and reminding the kids to brush their teeth, before sitting down in front of the computer for a couple more hours of work after the bedtime routine is finally done.
I, too, spend long hours doing hard and good work to provide for and take care of our family. I shuffle kids to school and the swimming pool and eye doctor appointments, fitting in work obligations between it all. I help with homework and check backpacks and remind the kids to brush their teeth, before sitting down in front of the computer for a couple more hours of work after the bedtime routine is finally done.
We are both doing hard and good work to provide for and take care of our family in our own ways.
Sometimes it feels like there are cosmic forces at work trying to keep us from spending too much time together. Just when life settles down in your world, it heats up in mine. Or vice versa. One weekend I’m out of town, and then you’re out of town, and then family comes to visit. Just when the two of us seem to have things under control, some kind of emergency or last minute social plans will flip life upside-down again.
None of this is unique to us. This is, after all, what it means to be an adult, to be a parent, and to be a spouse. We are surrounded by people clamoring for our time and attention. We are pulled in a million different directions. We are asked to be everything to everyone. And as much as we want to focus on each other, as much as we need to be each other’s one and only, sometimes doing what is right for the family and the tiny humans who call us Mom and Dad take priority.
And we miss each other.
But maybe the missing each other isn’t a bad thing. Maybe the missing each other is actually a good thing?
It is in the missing you that I remember the passion and romance of those fresh-faced and starry-eyed days. It is in the missing you that I become acutely aware once again of how much I need you. It is in the missing you that I know without a doubt how much you love and care for our children and our family. It is in the missing you that I am reminded that you are still my one and only.
So until the next date night, the next stolen kiss, the next movie night — until the next long weekend away, the next indulgent vacation, the next snuggle on the couch… Until then, I will miss you because I love you — even more than when we were fresh-faced and starry-eyed newlyweds with all the time in the world.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
My Current Season
I have been posting articles that I have easily related with regards to my motherhood journey. But if there is one that strongly resonates my thoughts and feelings, this article has to be it. I applaud the author for being able to capture motherhood into words so well. She couldn't have said it any better.
'The Heaviness of Motherhood'
by: Marielle Petkoff
Before having kids, everyone always tells you to enjoy having the freedom to not have to worry about anyone but yourself. It’s hard to fully understand what they’re talking about. Taking care of yourself is all you’ve ever really known, after all. Sure, you have people that you care about and love and even worry about on a daily basis, but it’s not the same as having kids.
Motherhood is so heavy.
From the moment you find out you’re expecting, you literally begin to carry the weight of that child.
They place that squirming, squished-up infant on your chest for the first time and in that instant, your life is changed forever. The feeling is permanently ingrained in my memory. The moment my firstborn entered this world, I felt the heaviness. The connection, the responsibility, and the weight were overwhelming. Despite all the books I had read, forums I had browsed, and blogs I had bookmarked, I felt utterly unequipped, unprepared, and totally undeserving of the perfect little human placed in my hands.
It’s like God literally takes a piece of your heart, gives it chubby hands and scrunchy lips, and places it outside your body for you to care for. It’s extraordinarily wonderful — and indescribably terrifying. No matter what situation is thrown your way, from that moment on, you’re suddenly expected to know how to deal with it. It’s as if birthing a child gives you magical insight into how to raise one. It’s a lot of responsibility, and it’s hard, so hard. So hard. You love that little piece of your heart so much, but you almost can’t bear the weight of knowing you can’t undo this, and that it will never stop — not on the weekends, not on vacation days, and not even on sick days. There are no breaks.
You think back to the freedom of your child-free life and suddenly understand why people called it “freedom.”
Once you become a mother, things that used to seem so easy become so much work, like trying to leave the house on time or running a few “quick” errands. Things that used to feel like basic everyday tasks now feel like luxuries, like having more than five minutes to make dinner, folding and putting away the laundry, or sleeping from night until morning. Things are different when the responsibility of another human being lies on your shoulders, when someone else’s needs come before your own, when the world you once knew suddenly ceases to exist permanently.
It’s almost like there’s a timer in your head, ticking, ticking, ticking. Every time you try to get away or take a break from mothering, it taunts you. You can’t escape it. You try to take a day to yourself, to go away for a week or even just a few hours, but the ticking never stops. You can’t even leave your child with a babysitter without hearing it.
When the party starts going longer than expected, it gets louder. You watch the clock, wondering if your kids are still okay and if you can sneak out without being noticed, pushing yourself to stay cool for just 10 more minutes. Or five more minutes. Or, okay, now, you have to leave now. They probably need you. Your kids need you. You can feel the weight, pulling you back, pulling you home to them. The longer you try to get away or ignore it, the louder it gets. You look at the people around you who don’t have kids, remembering what it felt like to be them, to have the freedom to stay late after the party or to make last-minute plans.
The weight of being a mother is heavy, indeed. Some days, it feels like it’s squashing you, requiring more strength and energy than you possess. The constant and unending responsibility seems like more than you can bear. It’s a lot to carry.
But that’s the thing about lifting weights, it leads to change. The change doesn’t happen overnight; it’s not instantaneous. But slowly, over time, you begin to transform. Each day you get a little stronger, until one day, you wake up and realize you hardly feel the weight at all. The weight has become easier to carry. It becomes second nature, a part of who you are. You carry it with you without even noticing it’s there. You have transformed into a stronger, more capable, more selfless version of yourself without even noticing.
Motherhood is so heavy, but you’re strong enough to carry it.
'The Heaviness of Motherhood'
by: Marielle Petkoff
Before having kids, everyone always tells you to enjoy having the freedom to not have to worry about anyone but yourself. It’s hard to fully understand what they’re talking about. Taking care of yourself is all you’ve ever really known, after all. Sure, you have people that you care about and love and even worry about on a daily basis, but it’s not the same as having kids.
Motherhood is so heavy.
From the moment you find out you’re expecting, you literally begin to carry the weight of that child.
They place that squirming, squished-up infant on your chest for the first time and in that instant, your life is changed forever. The feeling is permanently ingrained in my memory. The moment my firstborn entered this world, I felt the heaviness. The connection, the responsibility, and the weight were overwhelming. Despite all the books I had read, forums I had browsed, and blogs I had bookmarked, I felt utterly unequipped, unprepared, and totally undeserving of the perfect little human placed in my hands.
It’s like God literally takes a piece of your heart, gives it chubby hands and scrunchy lips, and places it outside your body for you to care for. It’s extraordinarily wonderful — and indescribably terrifying. No matter what situation is thrown your way, from that moment on, you’re suddenly expected to know how to deal with it. It’s as if birthing a child gives you magical insight into how to raise one. It’s a lot of responsibility, and it’s hard, so hard. So hard. You love that little piece of your heart so much, but you almost can’t bear the weight of knowing you can’t undo this, and that it will never stop — not on the weekends, not on vacation days, and not even on sick days. There are no breaks.
You think back to the freedom of your child-free life and suddenly understand why people called it “freedom.”
Once you become a mother, things that used to seem so easy become so much work, like trying to leave the house on time or running a few “quick” errands. Things that used to feel like basic everyday tasks now feel like luxuries, like having more than five minutes to make dinner, folding and putting away the laundry, or sleeping from night until morning. Things are different when the responsibility of another human being lies on your shoulders, when someone else’s needs come before your own, when the world you once knew suddenly ceases to exist permanently.
It’s almost like there’s a timer in your head, ticking, ticking, ticking. Every time you try to get away or take a break from mothering, it taunts you. You can’t escape it. You try to take a day to yourself, to go away for a week or even just a few hours, but the ticking never stops. You can’t even leave your child with a babysitter without hearing it.
When the party starts going longer than expected, it gets louder. You watch the clock, wondering if your kids are still okay and if you can sneak out without being noticed, pushing yourself to stay cool for just 10 more minutes. Or five more minutes. Or, okay, now, you have to leave now. They probably need you. Your kids need you. You can feel the weight, pulling you back, pulling you home to them. The longer you try to get away or ignore it, the louder it gets. You look at the people around you who don’t have kids, remembering what it felt like to be them, to have the freedom to stay late after the party or to make last-minute plans.
The weight of being a mother is heavy, indeed. Some days, it feels like it’s squashing you, requiring more strength and energy than you possess. The constant and unending responsibility seems like more than you can bear. It’s a lot to carry.
But that’s the thing about lifting weights, it leads to change. The change doesn’t happen overnight; it’s not instantaneous. But slowly, over time, you begin to transform. Each day you get a little stronger, until one day, you wake up and realize you hardly feel the weight at all. The weight has become easier to carry. It becomes second nature, a part of who you are. You carry it with you without even noticing it’s there. You have transformed into a stronger, more capable, more selfless version of yourself without even noticing.
Motherhood is so heavy, but you’re strong enough to carry it.
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