“Maybe you’d feel better about going back to work?”
I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, feeling a tear escape down my cheek. Those words pierced my already fragile heart. My husband, Brian, of seven years was treading lightly, “It seems like you’re just not… happy.” He was navigating a minefield, trying to fix a problem I hadn’t even expressed. As a new mom of two, the pressure was overwhelming. My day was a cycle of breastfeeding a newborn and potty training a toddler. One was always hungry, while the other seemed perpetually constipated. Picture this: 9 a.m., 11 a.m., 3:38 p.m., and there I was, in the bathroom, coaxing one child to use the potty while the other clung to me. Add mountains of dishes and laundry to the mix, along with the cries of two children, and I was starting to feel trapped in my own life.
Every evening, Brian came home to the same scene: our two-and-a-half-year-old on the floor with a tummy ache, the four-month-old wailing, and me on the brink of a breakdown. Our routine became predictable; he’d walk in at 6:02 p.m., and I’d immediately hand him both kids along with a litany of complaints before retreating to the bathroom for a brief moment of solitude.
Each night, my knight in shining armor took over parenting duties as I unloaded the exhausting details of my day. I needed him to understand how hard it was, how drained I felt, and how hopeless I was by 5 p.m. I had become the world’s biggest complainer, placing our kids at the center of my rants. I was morphing into someone I didn’t even like to be around—the whiny version of myself who barely laughed. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Who was this person constantly grumbling? I wanted to stop, but it was as if the negativity had taken over my life.
It’s probably not surprising that at some point, Brian wondered if I would be happier returning to a full-time job outside the home. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t entertained that thought myself. His question, however, shed light on a crucial realization: the real issue wasn’t the kids; it was my attitude. The problem lay in the unbalanced narrative I had created, which had somehow shifted to 90% negativity and only 10% positivity.
Once upon a time, in what feels like another lifetime, Brian and I both worked full-time. We understood the stress of deadlines, the nuances of a 30-minute commute, and the annoyance of conference calls. We earned paychecks and received promotions for our efforts. Our evenings were filled with shared work stories over leisurely dinners at the kitchen table. But now, Brian works full-time while I juggle part-time work from home with two small children.
Since becoming a work-at-home mom, I became obsessed with making Brian truly understand the challenges of caring for kids all day. I wanted him to grasp the physical and emotional toll motherhood took on me. There was so much he couldn’t comprehend, from the nausea and labor pains to the exhaustion of sleepless nights. I felt I had to remind him constantly.
I vividly recall one of the first times I left Brian home with both kids for a morning. When I returned, it looked like a tornado had hit. Toys were everywhere, yogurt was spilled on the floor, and was that Elmo hanging from the ceiling fan? Brian’s expression said it all, but he added nine simple yet magical words: “I don’t know how you do this every day.”
As those words left his lips, I swear I heard angels singing. Sunlight streamed through the windows as I kissed him enthusiastically. “That is the best thing you could ever say to me,” I beamed. I craved that validation—that caring for two little ones was challenging for both of us. I wanted to tattoo that phrase on his forehead, spray paint it on our garage door, and hang it above our bed for nightly affirmation. If he said it three times a day, I’d never tire of hearing it.
That night in the kitchen, when Brian innocently asked if I’d be happier working full-time again, it struck a nerve. He is a natural problem-solver, and based on my daily reports, he clearly heard a problem: his wife is not happy. But was that true? Was I genuinely unhappy?
Sure, I have moments of discontent, but overall, this is my dream come true. When people ask about my life, I express gratitude. I’m not saying it’s all sunshine and rainbows, but I feel fortunate to stay at home with my kids while pursuing creative endeavors that contribute to our family. Yes, balancing everything can be tough, and some days are downright awful, but when I reflect on it, I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.
In my desperation for understanding and appreciation, I realized I had painted a skewed picture of our chaotic days. My husband only knew what I communicated each evening. I was quick to share horror stories and complaints but neglected the joyful moments. For every meltdown at the post office, there was a dance party in the living room. For every screaming car ride, there were giggles on the changing table.
What if I adjusted my daily reports to showcase more positivity? How would that transform our evenings, my marriage, and my outlook? Instead of giving my kids a failing grade on their daily report cards, why not give them a passing one? Maybe I could focus on the good instead of the bad. What if every day, when Brian walked through the door at 6:02 p.m., I greeted him with reports of praise instead of complaints?
Three years into this motherhood journey, I know I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but I’ve also done many things right. The daily report is an area where I can improve. So, I’m committing to a mid-year resolution to trade my red pen for gold stars. Each day, I want to identify three positive things, like the way the boys play peek-a-boo or how cute they look with their matching shampoo mohawks in the bath. I want to highlight what made us smile and refrain from dwelling on the negatives.
Save the white-flag surrender days for when they truly warrant it (like when there’s an explosion in the car seat). On those days, instead of bombarding Brian with complaints, I’ll use a code phrase: “Wanna pick up Chipotle for dinner?” He’ll know exactly what I mean without needing a rundown of the day’s disasters. At 6:02 p.m., he’ll come in with burrito bowls, take one look at Elmo hanging from the ceiling fan, and smile, “I don’t know how you do this every day.”
For more insights on navigating motherhood and home insemination, check out this great resource for pregnancy and home insemination options. Plus, if you’re on the journey to parenthood, consider exploring these fertility supplements that might help, or check out the Impregnator at Home Insemination Kit for more information.
In summary, shifting my perspective can change our family dynamic and improve my experiences as a mother. By focusing on the positives and communicating them to Brian, I can foster a greater sense of appreciation and understanding in our home life.
Keyphrase: “navigating motherhood”
Tags: [“home insemination kit”, “home insemination syringe”, “self insemination”]