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Chrome,

You are a good and patient man. I never perceived you as bashing your W only that you were frustrated. I had no intention of bashing her either. Many times bs on my H's part has been pointed out to me. Sometimes it helped me clarify what I needed ot do/say. Sometimes the outcome was good sometimes not. I think the 4 month hiatus is ok as long as you don't revert to Glob.

Best,

Karen

Thanks Karen, I certainly didn't take what you were doing as bashing my W. It was, just as you say, someone putting their own female perspective on the issue, which is why I posted it. Sometimes the response is that is BS from your W. Sometimes the response is that is BS from you Chrome. Sometimes there is a perspective I never envisioned. I think it should be pretty clear that I have a paltry understanding of how my W's mind works, and actually women in general. So many of my posts I just want insight into the female perspective. Of course, the best thing would be for my W and I to communicate, but that is the part of our M that is most sorely lacking.

I am at a loss right now as to how hard to push the issue of communication. It seems that whenever I do push it, she retreats even farther. There have been a few notable instances in which I got a glimpse, but as you all know, I have a problem with personalizing. So often I then have to fight my own retreating issues. It is getting better though over time.

I will try not to revert to Glob. I don't mean that I will stop posting or checking here by "4 month hiatus." I will just stop pushing my W to (1) finish HN/HN, (2) start reading PM, (3) start reading "Love Diet" (which I got for V-day if you remember), (4) have R convos a times (5) have sexual encounters. I will continue to pursue non-sexual affection, as I have been for awhile. When she stops nursing, I'll start trying to phase in those 5 things.

Thanks for your perpectives on the breast milk thing ladies. It is obvious that even with something like that, the types of responses are very individual. But I think I got a sample of how my W may be thinking about it.

Chrome

Chrome

Quote:

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I don't mean that I will stop posting or checking here by "4 month hiatus." I will just stop pushing my W to (1) finish HN/HN, (2) start reading PM, (3) start reading "Love Diet" (which I got for V-day if you remember), (4) have R convos a times (5) have sexual encounters. I will continue to pursue non-sexual affection, as I have been for awhile. When she stops nursing, I'll start trying to phase in those 5 things.

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I think this is a reallly good idea Chrome, give yourself a break as much as W. 4 months is not forever. The old prolactin is doing it's stuff on her, once that's over, I'm sure things will change. Like you say keep up the non-sexual affection but everything else can wait (if you can )

To be honest you might find it easier if you take a break from the board, not that we won't miss you an'all but you just make make it easier on yourself not to be focussing on R issues for a while.

take care

Fran

OK. I'll leave you all with this creative work I did recently. I have of course edited names (Ann for my W, Jack for my son, etc.) and a few other things to keep some anonymity. I know its not anything to write home about, but I did put a lot of my soul in it, and it is a true story (as much as my memory serves me). Just remember, I'm an astronomy prof, not english. It is in 3 parts.

Part 1

Life with Baby Jack by Chromosphere

I awaken ...

The nightstand lamp is on. I sit up in bed, curious about the time. I can’t see the electric clock while lying down because it is placed on the floor … Ann can’t sleep with it “shining in her face.” It is just after midnight. Fortunately, the twins are asleep. They are in their room probably holding tight to their "lovies", those objects of affection that young children latch onto and are necessary for sleep. I chuckle internally as I think about doll-sized blankets and washing instruction tags. As I settle back down letting my tiredness wash over me, I look to my right and see Ann standing there beside the bed with a strange expression on her face. Then it comes flooding back to me, I was trying to stay awake to help with the nursing, changing of diapers, and comforting of Baby Jack that goes on continuously throughout the night - but I had drifted off to sleep. DRAT!!! (or something else a little harsher anyway) Her expression must be one of disgust at me for being so weak, leaving her to deal with the nightly duties on her own. The night just got longer. Sigh.

But wait ... there is a strange wetness on me. Is it the roof leaking? I feel around and notice the wetness trails back to ... Baby Jack! And Ann is standing over him with a half removed diaper in her hand. Sudden realization dawns on me. There is one thing I didn't get to experience with little girls ... the fountain of youth. My eyes immediately travel to the exposed instrument of my awakening. OOPS! … that was a mistake. Now I have this image of a little, red, swollen (newly circumcised) “thingy” in my head. OUCH!!!! The night just got longer. Sigh.

I roll out of bed to begin the search for “wipies” to clean the pee off the bed. I find the white, cylindrical container with convenient pop-top and smile inwardly at this mental stroke of genius. I reenter the bedroom, pleased with myself and expecting a smile of gratitude from my overwrought wife; the tableau is shattered by the excited utterance “you don’t expect me to sleep in a bed with pee all over it do you?” I stand there dumb-struck, but realization seeps in … we’re washing the sheets tonight. This of course means a restless remainder of the night on the couch punctuated by the buzzer on the washer, then dryer as they finish their respective cycles. The night just got longer. Sigh

I awaken again ... but was I really asleep.

Sunlight is just beginning to stream into the window. I can hear the twins frolicking in the other room. Loud thuds and giggles permeate the air. I am already sitting half upright with a heavy weight on my chest, my head and upper back propped against the headboard. I look down and see Baby Jack with a contented open-mouthed expression on his sleeping face. Remembrance floods back to me, the washing completed, Ann remade the bed and we nestled into the warm clean sheets that were almost worth the trouble of a couple hours on the couch. But Jack had been disturbed beyond repair by the night’s incident and had been very “fussy” as they say. So in an attempt to allow Ann to get some sleep, I have been holding him for the past 4 hours. My chest must seem like a king-sized bed, and fairly comfortable, because Baby Jack is sound asleep despite being late on a nursing. I look to my right and notice Lori has managed to get some sleep, perhaps it will make this day a little more bearable for her. Sigh (contented this time).

I gently lay him on the bed and reluctantly shake Ann awake. I've got to get showered and dressed, make the twins’ breakfast, change their diapers, get them dressed, take the garbage out, and get to school in time to make up a quiz and prepare today’s demonstrations for physics class. The fun has begun again. Can I make it the next three months?

Next post, part 2

Part 2

Flash Back

I awaken at 1 PM in my college dorm, a serious hangover pounding in my head. I have never been one to throw up much, but a half a bottle of Jack and 8 Heine’s will do just about anyone in. After an hour or so in which I wish for a quick death, my health begins to improve significantly enough that life starts to be a viable choice. I shuffle back to my room trying to remember what day it is. CRAP! Its Thursday and I have a test tomorrow in Communication Studies 251 “Rhetoric of the American Debate.” Probably the worst class I have ever had, the prof is classic “chalk and talk”, but without the chalk. She stands in front of the class and drones, but at a speed envied by TV commercial producers on a tight budget. Just thinking of the class makes my fingers ache.

As I sit there trying to decide whether to eat something, find my notes, or lay down and allow the pounding in my head to recede a little more, I hear the call. It is a call I have been hearing in my head more and more often lately. Why am I here? What is my life for? Does anyone (including myself) really care if I live or die? I am a loner physics major at an elitist university who stopped going to church upon entering college as a protest against parents who insisted on it. I doubt anyone would notice if I went missing for several weeks.

That is, except for my partying buddy. Unfortunately for my academics, my mind wanders to that side of my life. One way to avoid the call is to drown it in alcohol, drunken male “bonding” rituals, scantily-clad women, dancing, and loud music … something I do 3-4 times a week at this point in my life. The excitement, the rush is hard to resist. It gives me a place in this world, even if that place is very ephemeral. I give in to that more primal call, reminding myself that I get to drop one test anyway. By this time it is already 3 PM or so, I hastily grab some fast food. I don’t want to get too late a start on the drinking, or I may not have time to get that buzz going, the one that helps me get over my natural shyness and low self-esteem so that I can become a party animal personified.

There is a difference this day though; a third call intrudes upon me. I have never had a girlfriend before, I just figured myself to be unattractive to women, as they always avoided me unless drunk. I had this vision in my head of always being a loner, maybe eventually hooking up for one night stands when the last shreds of my conscience evaporated in the haze of many, long disillusioned years. But there is this new girl I’ve been seeing around. She is jaw-droppingly gorgeous, all the other guys agree … way out of my league. But she has smiled at me several times, and even said hi. Some of my buddies are encouraging me to ask her out, but I doubt I ever will. She’s just another beautiful woman that I will never be with (as James Blunt achingly croons on the radio).

ARGHHH! This afternoon is choir practice, and I have already missed the maximum amount before I get kicked out. Ah well, drinking will have to wait awhile. I shuffle over to the music building and enter the choir practice room. Speak of the devil … there’s that pretty girl sitting there. We just happened to be the first two to arrive to practice. Oddly enough, the hangover in me gives me resolve. Why not ask her out? It’s not like my situation in life will change if she says no (except maybe eliminate a few daydreams). Besides, that first call still rings inside me. Maybe I can find my purpose with her. What was her name again …?

Ah yes, “Hey Ann, got any plans this evening?”

Part 3

Flash Forward

I come home …

After a long day listening to demonstrations by my colleagues, doing sample writing, reading some of my own, and offering critiques to others, there is a little drag in my step as I walk in the door, knowing what awaits me. This is exacerbated by the fact that Baby Jack has started teething, so he is up often at night. I am the lighter sleeper of the two, so I have assumed the responsibility of being the one who attempts to soothe his nightly “fussing.”

I enter the house, kick off my shoes, empty the contents of my pockets – a billfold and car keys – into a basket resting on the microwave oven, and take stock of the situation. Baby Jack is crying very dramatically in the room to my left. Straight ahead, I see my twin daughters running around in circles singing “ring around the rosy …” I realize that there is dinner to help with, baths to give, teeth to brush, PJ’s to struggle on, beds to get little girls into and hopefully asleep in. There is even a pile of dishes from the day’s depredations to wash and a rampaging horde of toys to pick up.

I look into the room on the left and notice my mother in law attempting to change Baby Jack’s diaper. He has entered that curious phase of life in which he is not old enough to understand that he should help with tasks such as the dreaded diaper change (as the twins now do), but big enough and dexterous enough to really make the event extraordinarily difficult. I walk over to the changing table with its soft mattress on top. As I enter his field of vision, Baby Jack’s eyes lock with mine, and a huge grin pops onto his face. A hesitant “da … d … d … da” barely escapes his lips before he continues his crying fest. The diaper change effected, my mother-in-law quickly hands him over with a “you want to see da-da” before rushing off, a harried look on her face from helping Ann do the day’s shopping with the kids in tow. I look after her with some envy as she drives off to the quiet sanctuary of her now childless home.

I carry Baby Jack into the other room, ideas for comforting bouncing around in my head. A call comes from the kitchen “he’s hungry and I’m running late on dinner, feed him some Cheerios.” I sit down with a box and one by one, feed him the apparently delectable bites. He makes a great smacking show of downing the tiny toroids and calms immediately. When there is enough in his tummy to temporarily prevent him from returning to his anguished state, I set him on the floor with his toys. He has just recently discovered how to reach virtually any interesting object on the floor via a series of twists and rolls, no crawling yet. Amazingly, with all the brightly colored toys scattered on the floor, he zeroes in on a writing pen I accidentally left on the floor last night. I hurriedly snatch the pen from the floor and his attention quickly drifts to the next most interesting object a pile of oversized Lego blocks the twins like to leave all over the house.

As I sit there, tired, worn out, anxious about the possibility of another long night, his eyes lock with mine and he breaks into one of his signature huge grins. I’m sure those grins are going to cause me no end of trouble as he gets older and notices girls, but for now they just bring an equally huge grin to my face. At that very moment, the twins really notice me for the first time and come rushing into the room with screams of “DAAAA-DEEEE.” One of them begs to sit in my lap emitting a stream of amazingly well connected words about her latest discovery, while the other bends down next to Baby Jack and very accurately imitates the soothing phrases and sub-vocalizations that we use to calm him.

Yes, the nights are long. But I can endure … I have endured … and somehow … they are worth it.

Chrome,

I can remember those days…. They seem to have gone by so fast. At the time life was just as you describe, harried, hectic, tiring, just trying to hang on to this side of chaos…. but somehow you get through… life is literally one day at a time. Then one day my neighbor, an older retired husband told me that I was having the best days of my life.

Looking back, in spite of all the fighting and arguing, what I remember most are the kids when they were little. My neighbor had it right. I tried to make the most of it then and have good memories and few regrets, but I just wish I could have focused less on trying to stay out of the chaos zone, worrying less about the future and just staying in the moment and enjoying the babies. So believe it or not, you are in the best days or your life too. Everything else will take care of itself, but only when the time is right. This is the time to enjoy (I know that seems hard to understand in a SSM), sit back and let life carry you along. For now just live in the moment.

Chrome,

Hope you and yours had a terrific holiday weekend.

Karen

Hi Chrome, finally got to this thread. No, I'm not mad. Just keep your mind open. This relationship/soul/identity is not rocket science-- it's MUCH more complicated!

After reading the Brooke Shields book "Down Came the Rain" about her postpartum depression, I'm wondering if your W might be going through something like that. There is so much pressure on new moms to be a certain way and feel a certain way, to be competent right away at unfamiliar tasks, etc. Add to that the pressure to be a fully present wife and lover-- it's no wonder women are driven to the breaking point. And Brooke only had one-- y'all have three. The way you describe being at home and overwhelmed by the babies-- just think, she has been there all day.

Brooke felt so awful, and felt doubly and triply awful for feeling so bad-- she felt such shame and such a failure, not only because of the way she handled tasks, but shame over the way she felt. She NEVER expected to feel so bad... it's a wonderfully written book and brutally honest. Her depression put a tremendous strain on her husband and on the R. Something to think about.

Lil,

You may be on to something. I do realize that she is under a lot of pressure, thus my stated intent to lay off for awhile (something I guess I should of done a long time ago). I wonder if her constant moping about this being her "last baby" (trying to get me to agree to a 4th) could also be tied into PPD. Any thoughts?

"This relationship/soul/identity is not rocket science-- it's MUCH more complicated!"

LOL More ocmplicated in many ways. Rocket science is difficult for sure, but once you've got it, you've got it. R stuff isn't that way because human beings don't have to obey rules.

Chrome