I find myself sitting here thinking about my last pregnancy. I was about this far along with H, and fear set in. I didn’t think I could handle another baby, I was too old, R and I weren’t getting along, I was angry, etc. There was one day it got so bad, I called my sister and said, “I can’t do this. I don’t want to be married, I don’t want this baby.” She cried with me, and ten minutes later, told me I was an idiot and to stop acting this way. She was right, I adore my husband and I adore my children, but for those ten minutes I felt like a complete failure.

And I guess it is about that time. My parents don’t talk a lot…they never did. My father worked to pay the bills, and my mother resented that….so she did the only thing she could to get his attention…she spent money. Growing up, I hated that! But, I am doing it myself. I was a daddy’s girl growing up…I thought the sun rose and set on my father, so I did everything I could to get his attention, and when I was 25 I married a man very much like him. Quiet, calm, a hard worker….and now…almost ten years later, I find that same resentment that ate at my mother in myself. He likes to joke around, and even when I am being serious…he jokes, it has gotten to the point that I resent it. instead of laughing, I think he is disrespecting me…and I lash out…by spending his money. I find myself, and have for the past few months (perhaps since August) behaving like our two youngest. Any attention is good attention…if I can’t get him to show me some affection or sit with me at night, I will behave poorly and HOPE that he notices. The very same behavior we admonish in our children, has become my way of communicating with my husband!

In my defense, I realized this problem over the summer. I got into a fight with my mother, and said something to this effect to her, she hung up on me….and while I was sitting there thinking about our fight, I realized…THAT is what I do! Everything I threw at her, I saw in myself. I was ashamed, and mad. To the point, I didn’t want to visit my inlaws, figuring I could sit at home and have a pity party….I ended up going, and found myself quite surly and angry a lot of the time, and unfortunately, that has been my mood for much of the time since then. I promised myself..NO more using money as a means to get attention, so I did. I stopped using credit cards, and only used cash. And it seemed to be working out….BUT, I behaved like a child yet again…a part of me WANTED R to find out…so I could say, “But this is what happened….This is why it is like that…” I wanted him to see his part, and I was willing to take responsibility for my part, but again…I didn’t confront him…I waited silently for him to stumble across it, and HOPED that he would talk to me about it.

I love my husband, but I would be lying if I said that RIGHT NOW….I was happy. I feel lost, and confused. I feel this baby in my stomach, and wonder if I can do it again…the late nights, no sleep, and still take care of my older boys. There are times, I think…what about my marriage, only to bitterly remind myself…that my husband doesn’t need me. I remember driving home one day from the grocery store,and I asked him…”IF he needed me.” He told me of course he did, and refused to elaborate…but I got to thinking…WHAT does he need me for? I don’t remember the last time he initiated sex, I don’t remember a show of affection, a date night he suggested, a time he willingly left his computer off one weekend. (actually I do, but that had nothing to do with me…it was football), and at the same time…I don’t remember a time I actually sat him down and tried to truly get through to him about this. Oh, I casually mention it, and when he brushes me off…I slam his office door and go back to what I am doing.

In the end, if (when?) my marriage fails…I realize much of it is my fault. I have fallen prey to that cliched women’s attitude…”he doesn’t give me attention, so let me act out.” He doesn’t talk to me, so let me sit here and resent him. He, He, He….when in reality…the problem is often…Me, Me, Me. Unfortunately, I think many women, obviously myself included, don’t want to admit that until the damage has been done and is not fixable.