Biological Resentment
In becoming a mother, I found that there was very little that would upset me as much as a man. Specifically, the man that I chose to have children with.
I have and had what I would describe as a great relationship. We solid boo. We argue sometimes, we communicate often, we are very comfortable with one another, we’re on the same page with money stuff, and we try our best most of the time.
We have been together for over 10 years. I love my husband. I really do. So much. More than myself (I’m probably not joking - I should see a therapist about it (again)). He’s a wonderful person with strong friendships and a solid sense of right and wrong and etc etc, blah blah blah, OMG WE GET IT, you love your husband.
I’m not writing this to talk shit about the man I love, I’m writing this to break down this question, because it isn’t an issue with him, it’s an issue with me.
Why the fuck do I resent this man so much?
The resentment started early and small, you know, like a baby do. A little poppy-seed of future burning anger. A teensy blueberry of illogical fear. A fuggin’ basketball of disappointment.
It started with my body.
I watched every part of my body slowly morph into something I couldn’t recognize as my own over 9 months. Every part. From the obvious: boobs, belly, nipples - to the unexpected: arm hair, nose?!, wrists. Every part of me was foreign and I had this illogical expectation that it would somehow magically return to normal once the baby had its exodus.
It did not.
It stayed foreign. The parts I had gotten used to and accepted changed for the worse, the parts I hated stuck around (seemingly for good), and the plobby-tummied, flappy-boobed woman I am now after building two people is a hardcore work in progress.
Physically, nothing changed for my husband… obviously. Outside of trying to keep up with my cheeseburger cravings - he was always able bodied and his physique remained unscathed from pregnancy. You know, because he is a man. They bodies can’t do dat.
It continued with my mood.
The degree of worry and anxiety that I operated at while pregnant was fairly high. I’ve always been of the ‘worst case scenario’ variety of human - (does it serve me well? No. No it does not). That does not change the fact that it is true.
Something about every decision I made potentially impacting my unborn loin-bean kind drove me to be anxious… which when I type it out now - yea, of course it did. That’s fucking hard to deal with.
After 9 months of worrying about caffeine, cheeseburger intake, water consumption, walking enough, sleeping on the correct side of my body, deli meat, stressing about stressing too much and stressing the baby out with my stress stress…
After 9 months of worrying constantly, my baby was born and I could finally start worrying constantly.
Mentally, my husband had to deal with me crying because my nipples might get big, acoustic guitar, the Beach Boys are too happy, and various other pregnant woman stereotypes (everyone cries about the Beach Boys, right?) But he never had to carry the weight (mentally or physically). He never sat up at night curious about the decisions he made that day and whether or not they would impact some intricate lung creation or ear formation.
It deepened with the overwhelming need for mom.
A mom is a very comfortable place for a baby. Because fat and because boobs and because milk smell and because IT GREW INSIDE MY BODY LISTENING TO MY BODY NOISES SINCE I GREW ITS EARS. Ain’t no dad bod, no sympathy weight, no titty having man is going to compare to those lovely lady lumps ma.
Unfortunately, NOBODY can comfort your baby like you can, and sometimes - a lot of times - all I wanted was for someone else to be able to… specifically my husband.
Because being everything for someone is hard.
I was already an oven, a hotel, a bed and breakfast… I just wanted my baby(s) to want him. He was willing, I couldn’t ask for someone more willing to try, but when baby guest asks to talk to the owner of the hotel, the concierge simply will not do - and baby guest is very, very volatile. Baby guest will scream at you in front of all of your other guests until baby guests needs are met, and baby guests needs are mom.
It’s not fair.
If I take myself and my feelings out of the picture and view myself as some kind of ape-lady… it all makes sense. Biologically, it all makes sense.
If I plop myself and my feelings back into focus and view myself as some kind of mom in 2019… it hits hard for me. I chose a partner with less traditional values, one who was willing to meet me halfway - or to come over the party line in many laundry endeavors. Our relationship felt swayingly equal, sometimes leaning one way but always pivoting back.
Parenthood changed that.
Of course I resent my husband - I’ve done hard things he’s incapable of doing.
