The Man Behind the Mama
I almost didn’t write this post. I started the draft a few days before one of our misunderstandings and I couldn’t come back to the idea of writing about my husband in a positive light after we had just accused each other of not doing as much for our family as the other. After I sent a long, drawn-out, unnecessary, first-thing-in-the-morning text basically telling him that I do everything thinking I had to get it out of the way and off my mind before starting my day, I immediately wished I could have retracted the message.
Listen. I’m 32 weeks pregnant… with my fourth baby in a row… working full-time in a demanding career… publishing a book… with 3 under 3 years old at home with all the mess, laundry and chaos that comes along with that… trying to drink enough water and control my hormones in order to stay grateful every damn day. I’m not just doing a lot. I would argue I am doing it all. Everything I do when I am not pregnant, I still do 100% in my third trimester. Most of the time I need no reassurance that superwoman ain’t got $h*t on me. However, sometimes, I want appreciation. Other times I want downright praise, placed on a pedestal with a crown upon my head, because as “easy” as I may make it look, it can be really hard.
Yet, here I am writing it. Creating this blog amongst other things keeps me humble and reminds me of the love that exists right in front of me when I cannot see clearly. Most importantly this includes my husband. In those moments of stress and fatigue and blame and guilt, I lose sight of the man I married and, with our anniversary this week, I couldn’t let this drag on. Instead, I wanted to introduce my readers to the man behind Mixed Feelings Mama because without him, there is no mama, there is no true love, and there is no family.
Let me begin with a fun fact. Ten years ago, if you had asked me how many children I wanted, I would’ve told you zero. After meeting Ricky, I wanted to be the mama of his babies. Now here I am pregnant with his fourth and getting cold-feet about his planned vasectomy. He brought out the desire in me to become a mother which revealed a strength in me that I had no idea existed and a love that has changed me forever. For that, I have to find ways to see the best in us as overwhelming as each day can feel.
There is a lot about Ricky that I admire but let’s talk about a little so you can get an idea of who my husband is. He is a ridiculously handsome man that grew up in the hood, was raised by his dad and grandmother, and against all odds, made it out as a Johns Hopkins trained physician. His story is inspirational and his passion for geriatric medicine is like no other.
Ricky is also the partner that you hear about but have never seen. He’s basically a unicorn! (Just read my post “Bye Bye Baby” if you don’t believe me) He puts me first in every situation and he is not afraid of a strong woman. Rather, Ricky is a feminist. He celebrates me and all of my accomplishments no matter how small they may seem to me, constantly bringing home bottles of champagne over things I may shrug my shoulders at and move on. He calls me '“beautiful” when I’m sitting there without makeup or a shower, 35lbs overweight wearing a robe covered in baby fluids. He has redefined love for me.
As a father, he has created equality between us as parents as best as he can in a world that corners us into our gender roles. He maximizes his paternity leave with each child changing as many diapers, making as many bottles and waking up as much as me during that time. Our lifestyles have naturally separated some of our expectations and obligations.
For example, I handle almost everything for daycare from blankets to lunches to paperwork to meetings, etc. However, when an issue comes up that I feel like requires his attention, he takes over. Recently, I was very upset that my daughter who had turned 3 years old and is a very clever girl was not moving on to her pre-school classroom due to staff shortages thus held with 2-year-old students. Initially, I met with daycare emphasizing that we chose them because they claim to be a school and not a daycare. With that, I expected Skylar to be on an appropriate curriculum for her age yet I was sympathetic to their staffing problems, and we agreed upon a schedule that worked for both of us. When the following week arrived and the plan was not followed, I was irritated and felt like I wasn’t being heard. At home, the real problem was that Skylar, a brown mixed child, was being held back in a predominantly white facility for anything other than her development. We agreed that it would be received in a more pressing, and given the historical context, in a more serious way from him- her Black and Hispanic father. I needed him to step in and he did. I was hands off. He prioritized the meeting in his schedule then he insisted on the discussion when they tried to delay it and they came up with a detailed plan that would work for Skylar.
But let’s be real. Ricky is not perfect. I’m not perfect. We aren’t perfect and neither is our marriage. We are so different. He tends to vent about his frustrations after a long day at work before he can decompress. I like to leave work at the hospital. He knows how to turn it off, veg out and relax. I can’t sit still for more than 10 minutes before getting up to do something. He thinks some things can be done later, I often think everything needs to be done immediately. I let the kids run wild, he enforces timeouts. We worry about and minimize completely different elements of our daily lives. Then add both of us in full-time careers in medicine, a pandemic, little kids, expensive childcare, pursuit of other passions, early mornings, no sleep, a messy house, hormones, etc. The list continues! Throw in a fever or an appliance that needs fixing, and literally, it all falls apart. It is effin overwhelming and the more I feel it, the more I focus on how much I do compared to him. Mentally and emotionally, tallying each task against the other, and in my head and in every scenario, although likely skewed, I always do more. In my mind, my responsibilities are more dire than his, my expectations outweigh his and my efforts surpass his. No matter what, igniting a vicious cycle of self-centered thoughts, and eventually, resentment. It is so easy to get to this place and forget everything wonderful about Ricky.
This is when I try to step back, check myself and intentionally interrupt this cycle. If I don’t, I risk us in the process. A risk that I am not willing to take. Ever. Under no circumstances. That is the reality.
I have practiced breaking this cycle and have gotten better at it. Better at recognizing the situation- we are living through the most difficult chapter of our love story. More efficient at breaking it- taking steps to get me/us out of the funk. Here is my personal approach:
Ask myself the following: 1.) Is this a problem something that would potentially make me stop loving him? The answer is no every single time. So if not, why let it bother me and make me think I love him less over it? Because I don’t. 2.) Can I let it go? Most of the time- yes. So let’s keep it moving.
Plan a date night. Even if I am on the brink of feeling like he’s the last person I want to have dinner with, I make the suggestion and book the reservation. When the evening comes, I allow no excuse to not go- not how tired we are, not how much we still have to do tonight, not how much of a disaster the house is. It can all wait because the reason I find us in this place is, more often than not, that we have become disconnected. We haven’t spent enough quality time together to enjoy each other’s company and we forget our bond. Those 1-2 hours bring us back.
Put aside 5 minutes to think about my favorite memories of us together or moments when I have felt so much love from him. Sometimes that includes listening to our wedding song or browsing through old pictures or looking at the life we built together.
Show some love. I’'ll send him a text letting him know I’m thinking about him or pause for a long hug in the middle of cleaning up the kitchen. Or pinch his butt cheek. In seconds, the sweet words or physical touch changes the mood.
Write my blog. I love to write so it serves as my therapy. It is my time to slow down, examine my actions and try to understand my emotions. At the end, is always gratitude that I missed out on because I am so busy trying to get through the day sometimes. It’s my chance to take it back and feel how lucky we are to have found each other.
Having babies changes your marriage and it changes who you are. We have been made to believe that it changes it for the better. To an extent, of course, that is true. But I have found that the challenges it brings will put a strain your relationship and test it on a whole different level. You are suddenly a parent with monumental responsibilities. I have lost the luxury of freedom, I have lost time and a self-centered mindset. At one point I may have even lost myself in motherhood (Read blog post titled 3 Shades of Postpartum Blues). However, I have promised myself that I will not lose the love I have for Ricky. When I see clearly, his love is what makes so much of my happiness possible. He is my soulmate, my partner, my biggest fan and my best friend. So when people ask me how I do it. Ricky is undeniably the answer.
