"My heart is so small it’s almost invisible. How can you place such big sorrows in it?" “Look,” He answered, "“your eyes are even smaller, yet they behold the world.”

I am in a waiting stage.  Will I have another child?  Should I give away the baby clothes?  How much is too much of a gap between children?  My husband, on the other hand, is way past the waiting stage.  He’s over the fence, hopped on the train, turned a corner, and is headed straight to the nearest bar.  He’s moved on.  Ready for the next stage in life where we reclaim the “us”; and let go of the diapers and pull-ups and Sippy cups and a child laying between us in our bed (and that child on most nights is the almost 7 year-old, not the 4 year-old).  For some reason, I’m not there yet.  And I’m not quite sure why or what it is that I am still waiting for.

I always envisioned us with three children.  But, life is perplexing and unexpected.  I never, ever in my harshest nightmares could have anticipated the journey we have taken to become a family.  One day, when the moment feels right, I will “let go” of my story and my journey; this journey is what led me to writing.  But, now is not that time.  It is no secret that I have suffered from Postpartum Depression and Postpartum OCD; and have walked that barb-wire line where the term Postpartum Psychosis was a possibility (these things have become malicious beings and evil demons that are worth uppercase letters).  But the true story is something that even my dearest friends would read in disbelief and horror.  And I’m just not ready yet. Maybe, I’ll be ready to let go tomorrow.  Maybe a year from now.  But, not tonight.

So, why in the world would I want to go through it again?  Seriously, Kristyn, why?  WHY.  It’s a constant war between the right side of my brain, the left side of my brain, and my heart.  The left-side is screaming WTF.  That is all.  WTF. There is no need to say more.  While the right side of my brain is tugging at my heartstrings with future baby announcements and chubby cheeks and first steps and belly laughs and rice cereal.  The left-side of my brain is dropping the f-bomb likes it’s the only word in the dictionary and the right-side is off in baby-land with stars and moonbeams glowing in her eyes.

If I am being completely honest, and I am nothing if not honest…to a very big fault; sometimes, I think that maybe I want three children because time went so fast.  I had Maggie, then I had Harper, and then I blinked.  And that time that people said would go by so fast...really did go by so fast.  They weren’t shitting.  Sometimes I think that a third child would give me that time back.  But, it can’t.  It won’t.  I will never get that time back with Maggie and Harper.  And reality is that time with another baby will go just as fast.  It’s inevitable.  That’s the funny thing about time…it just keeps going.  And why do I want that time back?  There has NEVER been an age that I haven’t enjoyed every possible second.  Each stage brings new adventures and new experiences and new traits that I had never discovered in my child until that point.  It is true and it is cliché.  Every day I am in more awe of these two miraculous creatures than I was the day before; and every single day, I fall more in love. 

So, why am I still in that lingering, pausing stage?  That indecisive, make no decisions right now stage?  Well, maybe that last statement was just it.  I fall more in love every day.  Every second. In every moment.  During every laugh.  During every temper-tantrum.  During every sassy response, I fall more in love.  To think that there could be another chance to fall in that kind of love is intriguing and intoxicating.  My heart is doing cartwheels; while the right-side of my brain is eating cotton candy, sitting on top of the Ferris wheel, looking at the Earth below while Louis Armstong croons “It’s a Wonderful World”.

But, that left-side of my brain.  It knows.  It remembers.  The hurt, the suffering, and the hell.   It wakes up every single morning and it always remembers.  And right now, it’s just not ready to let go.  Sometimes, I wonder if it ever will.

I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.

I’m not sure where this post is heading nor where it will end.  This week has been surreal and head-shaking and numbing; and has left my extended family in a state of painful anticipation of the unknown.  And all the while the world has continued to spin, while our hearts are slowly at this standstill of constant ache.  Since our family is not ready to release this ache into the world, I won’t comment anymore.  But, my need to write about it is under my skin, gnawing away.  So, I will start with something that I know is real.  Something that is constant.  Something that will always be.

In most families mothers are everything, IT, the queen of the castle.  There is nothing like a mother’s touch.  Mother knows best.  All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my mother.  Home is where my mom is.  And so on.  Yet, mothers complain that they are underappreciated.  Sure, we hear the majority of the whining; we are the bearers of our children’s constant want and need of attention; if something goes wrong it’s always “MOM!!” and rarely “DAD!!”  My husband can take a shower for 20 minutes and no one would ever think to bother him.  And yet, I don’t get one foot in the water and someone is whipping the curtain open asking me for some apple juice or if I know where the missing stegosaurus we lost three months ago is and if I can find it at that very moment.  Today, both my husband and I went shopping separately.  And somehow I ended up with both kids in a chaotic Target before an impending snowstorm.  I am quite positive most people heard me tell Maggie more than once, “You’re either in the cart or you’re out.  And if you try to change your mind while I am moving the cart, I will run you over.  And not look back.”  True story.  So, do mothers have it harder than dads?  Maybe.  But if we stop to think, would we want it any other way?  Because on the flip side, mothers get most of the love.  And the cuddles.  And the ‘I love yous’.  And the credit.  And so we wholeheartedly accept our role without looking back.

But, the dads, where are they?  What is their role?  The structure and dynamic of American families is drastically changing in more ways than one.  So, I will speak for the men in my life; because I feel truly blessed to come from a family and have married into a family with generations of great fathers and grandfathers and husbands.  So, where are these men I speak about?  These men, these amazing people are quietly in the background.  Tirelessly working and providing.  Always there waiting for when mommy has had enough.  And when mommy needs a very tall glass of wine.  They don’t need the acknowledgement, just the love.  Husbands with unwavering devotion to their wives; and fathers with steadfast love and support for their children.  Ordinary men that can turn into superheroes or princes or dragons when asked without blinking an eye.  A constant rock of support for their wives.

Last night, I came home from another long day of waiting with another long list of questions that have yet to be answered.  When I stepped in the door, I heard the whirring of the vacuum and I started tearing up.  My husband had worked for part of the day, then picked up our kids from my father (can we pause for a moment and be thankful for the granddads that are willing to babysit), and never stopped working when he got home.  Because somehow he knew that a clean house won’t fix my problems, but would give me a chance to just be.  To sit and breathe and enjoy my children after a day of anxiety.  Sure, we mothers live this life all the time.  But, we get the recognition. We get more “I Love Yous” and more cuddles.  And my husband, my children’s father, is ok with being second fiddle when he is anything but.  He works just as hard.  And to say I am merely thankful for him is an understatement of epic proportions.  The same goes for all the wonderful dads and husbands and men that are in my life.  And today, I hope wherever they are, whatever they are doing, they somehow know how much they are loved. 

Take the time to tell your husband, your father, your boyfriend, or simply your significant other how much you love them.  How much you appreciate them.  One day you may not get this chance...and today, you do.