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First time mums

I’m exhausted

So my husband told me tonight that I’ve changed and that he no longer feels desired by me because I don’t make comments towards him the way I used to and I don’t respond the same when he makes comments towards me and that makes me feel like a shitty fucking wife.

Because I do desire him and what he doesn’t seem to understand is that I’m all fucking touched out.

I had to watch my body change over 8 months. I stretched, I bled, I threw up. I had to stop doing things I loved, I was sick and exhausted all the time. Then I was drugged and had seven layers of flesh, muscle, nerves and organs cut open to have our son. Then I was stitched closed seven different times. I hurt, I couldn’t move like normal, I was exhausted and felt gross.

Lucas loves to be held. And I love to hold him. But fuck recently it feels like I’m doing the most. Which is fine, I’m his mom, but I can only be in so many places and pulled in so many directions at one time.

I get peed on. I get pooped on. I get spit up on and slept on and my hair pulled all while trying to hold and sooth and change my clothes and shower and be put together when I want to be anything but.

I keep track of where we’re going, what we’re doing, when the baby eats or sleeps, when his bottles get washed or the laundry was done or the snakes were fed. Even when my husband does have him, I get asked questions. Where’s this? Where’s that? Did you move this thing? And it’s always in the same spot if he just took the two seconds to look. I can never seem to have five minutes to myself.

I can make a bottle, hold the baby, let out the dog, and play a card game without even blinking. I can shower and rock his swing, and wash my hair all while my mind is blank.

It’s gotten to the point where I am hearing cries that aren’t there.

I cried for the first time since I had Lucas tonight. And it’s not his fault, that will never be something he understands. But sometimes I can’t tell when he’s joking versus when he’s serious and sometimes I just want to be held and told that shit is going to be okay and things will start to feel somewhat normal again.

I’m not resentful. At all. He’s great and when I was in the hospital and even just getting home, he was amazing. But my feelings were hurt. I feel like I’m not listened to, I’m not seen, and I’m just fucking exhausted.