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I close my journal and wipe my eyes. I went into that with low expectations, but a few lines in, and I could imagine him reading it. While that hurts like hell, it feels like a line of connection to him I didn’t have before, so I’ll take it.
I wish I could get his advice, though. It’s hard navigating all this. I don’t want to hide from Miles, but I don’t know how to talk about this either. At some point, I’ll probably break down crying and tell him everything, but until then, I’m trying to keep myself together. Especially since he has to go back to work next week. I don’t want this week to be nothing but sadness.
After another deep breath, I head for the shower, hoping maybe some hot water will wash some of the ache away.
“Ow, could you not?” I groan as Emmie chomps on my nipple with her gums. They’ve been swollen lately, and I’m fairly certain she’s starting to teethe. I can already tell I’m going to hate this.
Thankfully, she starts sucking quickly and I relax. My nipples already get excessive use feeding this tiny human. They don’t need any extra abuse.
“Are you okay?” Miles asks.
Though I don’t mean to do it, I roll my eyes. “Just our daughter treating my nipple like a chew toy.”
“Can I get you anything?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I’m mean. He’s being his normal self, but whenever I feel frazzled or on edge, I get snippy and I revert to my independent woman mode, which isn’t helpful. Forcing a smile, I say, “Sorry. I’m a little on edge. That hurt. Nothing you can do though.”
His brow furrows, and he sits down next to me. Then he stares at me. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, all the while looking into my eyes.
He’s going to ask me what’s wrong. I can feel it.
“Is there anything…” He pauses and clears his throat. “Is there anything special you want for lunch?”
I stare at him for a moment, surprised. I didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t sure what the hell I would say if he asked me what was wrong. Still, I wasn’t expecting him to not ask. Because that’s not him. He always asks. Always checks in.
“Uh, no specific requests,” I say.
“Okay. I’ll go whip something up.” He kisses me, then walks into the kitchen.
What the hell was that?
When I was pregnant and at my worst emotionally, I got frustrated when he asked, but that was before I understood why he did it. Before I understood that was his love language. And even though I had no idea what to say to him if he had asked, I feel a little cranky that he didn’t. No. More than a little. Because it’s not like him to not ask.
I look down at Emmie, happily sucking away, and my skin crawls. A random burst of emotion rolls through me. I feel like I’m pregnant all over again with crazy hormones leading to wild emotional swings. I’m even more on edge now than I was a few minutes ago. And I’m pouting. Full on pouting because he didn’t ask me what was wrong or if I wanted to talk. When I didn’t want to talk.
Seriously. What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m a grown ass woman. I’m strong and independent.
I can start a conversation. I can tell him what’s on my mind.
But that’s not what’s bothering me. I’m not upset because I wanted to talk and he didn’t ask.
Something about him not asking me makes me feel a little less loved, and I hate that feeling. Plus, now I feel like he’s hiding himself from me, and I don’t want that either.
But when he comes back to the couch with two mashed potato bowls and a refilled glass of water for me, and he’s smiling, it’s like he’s unknowingly gaslighting me. Am I reading more into this than what it is?
Holy shit, I need to chill.
I plaster on a smile I don’t feel on the inside, and chat with him like everything’s fine, even though I’m a big bag of conflicting emotions on the inside.
Miles
“I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“You’re not going crazy,” my therapist says. “You have conflicting emotions. That’s normal. Human. Because you’re not a robot.”
I sigh as I look at her, but she’s right. I enjoy her quirky remarks. They make me feel like I’m talking to a real person, not a robot.
