There were moments when I felt a pang of resentment towards you, especially during your medical school years while I was adapting to life as a stay-at-home mom. It often felt like you didn’t grasp the depth of my struggles. My world revolved around our child, and I was left feeling isolated and overwhelmed.
You led a life outside of parenting, while I put my own aspirations on hold to support yours. We frequently moved, living out of suitcases, and at one point, we even found ourselves in a cramped bedroom of a basement on Staten Island. For years, I was the one managing night-time awakenings and offering comfort through breastfeeding, all while navigating the chaos around us.
Whenever you had a day off, I’d whisk our toddler away at dawn, allowing you (and our roommate) the luxury of extra sleep, though I often harbored unspoken resentment. I still recall one morning as I strolled to our local bakery with our little one in tow, muttering to myself, “I can do this alone.”
Life’s uncertainties have led me to ponder that very thought. After five years as a stay-at-home mom, I’ve questioned whether I could indeed thrive on my own. Emotionally, I might struggle, but could I provide for our family? The answer is yes; I believe I could. I’ve always considered myself a go-getter, which is why this whole stay-at-home journey has felt particularly challenging.
I would manage, though there would be logistics to work out. You, the dreamer, are the architect of our lives, crafting a future filled with adventures—like the one we envision in Costa Rica. I lack a vision of life without you; my sense of home is wherever you are. The idea of navigating the jungle alone is daunting, and New Jersey, despite my sister’s presence there, feels too far from the sunshine and freedom I’ve grown to love in Florida.
Now that you’re in residency, with shifts stretching up to 26 days a month and 27 hours a day, I know I can technically handle everything by myself. I can juggle diaper bags and toddlers like a pro, scrub toilets while playing hide-and-seek, and use one hand to prepare meals. Yet, despite my capabilities, I find myself eagerly counting down the moments until you return—not just for help, but because I genuinely want you around.
I don’t need you to carry scooters or remind the kids when it’s time to climb a tree. I need you to hold my hand and engage with me.
I can certainly put away dishes and hunt for missing shoes solo, but with you, laughter comes easier, and the taste of coffee is far richer. I can walk our kids to sleep alone, but when we stroll together, the full moon seems to glow brighter, and I linger on its beauty. I can take our son to karate by myself, but the joy of seeing him interact with his peers is doubled when I can share those giggles with you.
I don’t need you to share parenting duties for the sake of fairness; I want you to enjoy this journey with me. Together, we turn mundane moments into joyful memories. The funny times are funnier, and even the tough times feel more manageable. Life simply takes on a brighter hue with you by my side.
We don’t just co-parent; we co-create memories. We share experiences that deepen the richness of our lives. When I spot a breathtaking sunset and you point it out, your acknowledgment enhances my perception, making the colors even more vivid.
I don’t require you for practical reasons alone; I need you to truly know me. You understand the reasons behind my laughter and can read my silence. You embrace my insecurities alongside my strengths, providing a sense of validation. We are connected at a fundamental level, reflecting back the best parts of ourselves through one another.
It’s true—I could survive without you. But I need you for so much more.
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