I like sports; he doesn't

Men like sports.  Men love sports.  But, in my case, I like sports; he doesn’t.  I am a contented Mom and prominent trophy wife to my husband.  I used to enjoy pastime moments with my sports loving, sports eating and sports dreaming girlfriends, even after we married.  However, I do not presently spend as many hours indulging myself in sporting events, nor do I desire to.  Lester, my loyal husband and fan, has patiently endured my frantic effort at survival in this relationship.  I am determined to make our home a place where love grows, in this family, and life is fulfilling, fun, and relaxing for both parent and child.

Our son Derrick and his younger brother Markey are great kids.  They have brought a big change to our family life.  I am presently busy reproducing a third offspring, which is due to make her appearance early in the spring.

Parenting tends to shift the choices of a sports laden mind and help create scheming that promotes good family values.  For instance, my favorite television programs are usually all of three hours long, running into overtime say thirty to fifty additional minutes, which makes it virtually impossible to sneak off and watch it with friends at one of their homes.  The last time this happened was just about three and one half years ago, coming December.  It’s not that I feel unfulfilled but, what is the word, stomped down, a bit harsh but near correct.

I realize it’s my choice to have these wonderful children with my husband; we are in agreement.  It wasn’t just his idea, as I have to keep reminding myself.  I keep telling myself, "Someday, probably when I am a Grandmother, I will be glad I took time to develop a family life".

Lester works all day at his job and comes home most evenings, rarely as chipper as he left.  I slave over our home. I clean, and I mother, and generally keep home fires burning.  This is my life; I might add, quite truthfully, I like my life.

Our lives have not always run harmoniously.  Making transition from the carefree hours of childless existence to the newly endowed mother was excruciatingly bothersome to my orderly life.  Oops, correction; that would be my disorderly life, in terms of discipline.

I have never been a disciplined person.  My main objective in life has been to entertain myself any way I possibly could, in other words have fun.  I used to live out my desires and get what I wanted, when I wanted it.  Any more, I’ve learned not to play at life this way; I’ve learned to make decisions through careful preparation and sensible choices.  My new motto in life is: get what you get, when you get it.

My new mother syndrome kicked in one afternoon when my water broke, and labor was wacked into super start.  “What the hell is this!?!?!”, I scream.  Like it or not, I couldn’t stop the onset of labor.  Being a weekend, my husband was home and we soon were at the hospital.  He was all so very calm; I felt differently. I could have decked him one for his part in this pregnancy.  I had wishes, believe me I had wishes.  I wished most of all I had never known a man.  I wished I had never gotten married.  I wished, well, it doesn’t matter; fact is, what I got for past actions were my past wishes, fulfilled.

Afterward, I viewed the hard labor with no regard as I looked into the darling face of my newborn son, Derrick.  Derrick was a spitting image of his dear old dad's Mother.  What!

I cannot believe the lessons I had to learn, and am still struggling with.  Selfishness comes wrapped in neat packages and is handed out generously at opportune times.  Life as I knew it would never be the same.  Baby, now number one, was most important.

It took some adjustment in priorities, when I, ‘number one’, suddenly was forced to take a back seat.  My husband, poor fellow, up to this point didn’t know what seat number he held.

It appeared to me that he was satisfied taking the back seat.  It seemed to come naturally to him; I’d never heard him complain.  He prided himself on providing for his growing family.

I, on the other hand, would skip about and play all day if that was what suited me.  I had plenty of time, even during my first pregnancy, to join my friends and keep up on the best of the games each season.

I remember inviting a couple girlfriends over on Super Bowl Sunday.  Lester had a meeting scheduled and the weather was beginning to blizzard.  At the last possible minute, Lester’s meeting got canceled.  Now, as I stated early on, my husband is not the sports minded partner I admit to be.  He knew I had invited my friends over to watch the Super Bowl, and I’d prepared luscious snacks ahead for the event.  He was a good sport and pitched in to help me with the last minute things, which have to be finished before allowing company.  He never grumbled or made any off the wall remarks.  He just settled in with me and my friends, and watched the game with us.

It seemed he enjoyed himself.  Afterward, I thanked him for watching the game with us, and asked him why he decided to join in.  He said, “Because you are part of me, and I can do what pleases you if it makes you happy.”  I’ve never forgotten his remark.  He is the peacemaker in our family; his character compliments my character.

From that day forward, I became aware of just who I had become.  I wanted very much to become the peacemaker my husband was.

So, when Derrick was born, I had help with my desire to become less selfish.  I had this helpless little bundle of life to love, protect, and grow up into a responsible person.  I wanted to be the best Mother to this baby that a baby ever had.  I never guessed how crazy things would get.

We came home some forty-two hours after I’d been admitted to the hospital.  I was eager to get started with my mothering skills, without a nurse around.  I was okay after we arrived home, while it was still day time; the night time is when I found trouble lurking.  I was kept busy.  I fixed formula for feedings, fixed supper, fed Derrick when he cried, and changed his diaper.  He went to sleep after his eight o’clock feeding, so I went to bed, exhausted.  My husband soon followed.

My next waking moment was not to morning’s light of a fresh new day, but to a night light and sounds of a fussy baby getting ready to cry.  I realized the baby would want to be fed during the night, but what I didn’t know was how hard it would be feeding him during the night.  In the hospital, the nurse kindly brought Derrick to my bed with a warmed bottle of formula; it was a cinch.  This was not the hospital.

I got out of my warm covers; this was in the middle of winter, and wasn't exactly as warm outside the covers as it was inside.  Burr… I was so cold, and so tired, not to mention sleepy.  Oh, what had I done!  All I wanted to do was sleep until I was not tired.  Hey, having a baby takes a lot out of a woman!  Pregnancy for forty and a half weeks isn’t easy.

So it went, night after night.  I learned I was not dispensable, and that I could survive.  I made my little baby happy when I cared for his needs, and therefore I was happy.

Our second little bundle of joy arrived two years later, and I slipped back into the nightly ritual again without batting an eyelash.  I knew what to expect this time.  I began adjusting my life to that of a selfless mother.

When Derrick went through his terrible twos, I followed in step with my terrible thirty-twos.  He was as precious as could be, but I couldn’t see that at the time. Markey had just made his appearance, and Derrick thought he was wonderful, but that feeling vanquished before the day was out.

Too soon, Derrick raucously refused to have anything more to do with this intruder we called Markey.  I was worried. And all the psychology I had used on him turned against me.  I’d heard of jealously toward the baby from the older sibling.  I was somewhat prepared.  I’d bought a baby doll for Derrick to help him if he did have this problem.  I gave it to him shortly after our arrival home from the hospital.  He took it and seemed to like it very much.  When I put Markey down for a nap, I helped Derrick put his dolly to bed, also.  This particular doll came with a bottle, and wore a diaper and a little T-shirt.  It was also wrapped in a tiny blanket.  Derrick took his nap alongside his baby doll.  When he awoke, he was in a miserable mood.  He was sad, and pouty, and started to suck his thumb again.

Lester and I decided not to make a big deal out of this thumb sucking business.  After all, his little world had changed on him, big time.  Derrick went from bad to worse.  He not only sucked his thumb, he began wetting his pants, too.  I was frantic after a week of this kind of behavior and started throwing up from nerves.  I needed some advise; I knew exactly where to get some.

My mom lived out of state; I called her, and we had the needed counseling session.  She suggested Derrick and I spend as much time together as possible, because he was feeling displaced, and possibly dejected, with all the attention being placed upon Markey.  Mothers are so wise.  I hope I appear as wise to my kids.

The rest of that day, I spent all the time I could afford with Derrick.  At first he resisted.  I patiently coaxed him into helping me care for the dolly by feeding it the bottle.  I put water into the bottle, so the doll would pee.  I thought this would help him realize there was more to do then just go through the motions.  He was fascinated when the dolly wet its diaper.  I used one of Lester’s hankies to change the diaper, and Derrick became a little more interested in his baby brother after that.  When I fed the baby, he wanted to feed his baby. And when I changed a diaper, he had to have his dollies diaper changed.  He even burped his baby when I burped Markey.  I learned a valuable lesson about sharing my time, through all of this.  I found out my little child needed me just as much as always, and that I needed him, too.

Lester also needed my attention.  It seems all I ever did anymore was give time to this person or the other.  Don’t get me wrong, Lester is very good with the boys. And he helps. He lightens the load every night, when he gets home from work, so I can have a little time to myself.  He’d do one feeding with Markey every night, plus give Derrick his bedtime bath.  I could always look forward to a relaxing evening.

He explained to me that helping me get the boys to bed each evening gave us quality time together with minor to no interruptions.  It worked, because while he took care of the kids, I was relaxing and getting refreshed.  He was tired, too, so after putting the boys to bed he always took a ten minute nap, which seemed to be all he needed to catch his second wind.  We began to read a book together on child training.  Lester had found the book while browsing for a child care guide at a book store.  He said he’d been looking for a book that would help give us more insight into raising both boys.  I think he was more upset by the thumb sucking, and pant wetting than he’d let on at the time.  Usually our evening would end with me sharing my day’s happenings, so he could keep up with the boys as they grew.  He knew about every first step, to the first tooth the kids went through, and got to experience their every change along with me.

Lester observed I needed a break from the day in, day out care of the boys.  I didn’t think I needed a break, they were my life; I enjoyed caring for them.  Nonetheless Lester made plans for an evening out on the following weekend.  I called our baby sitter and reserved plans with her for the night.  I can’t even remember the last time I’d called her; it seemed a millennium ago.  I dreaded going away and leaving the boys, especially the baby, in the care of a sitter, even if I was familiar with her care of Derrick.  I figured if something dreadful happened I would never forgive myself.  I didn’t mean to be distrustful of others, but I can see now that I was.

Lester and I went on our date that Saturday around six in the evening.  We enjoyed the food and ethnic atmosphere of our favorite Mexican restaurant for dinner.  My call from the ladies room was probably no secret to Lester, because when I came out I felt more relaxed, and I’m sure he noticed.  Mrs. Shelly was wonderful on the phone.  She is very motherly and knew just how to overcome my fears.  I heard no crying or whimpering in the background, and knew she had everything under control.  My confidence soared.

We left the restaurant and swung around to a friend’s house to play Euchre, and didn’t leave for home until midnight.  I only called home once; I was proud of myself.  After that first outing, it was easier for me to break away and have a relaxing time away from my babies.  I cringed at how insecure I’d become when I’d always been so outgoing and confident.

I overheard Lester make a comment to a friend, just the other day, while talking on his cell.  He’d perceived a change in my behavior since before Markey’s birth.  Blushingly, I admit I am more focused on my family than when we were first married.  I feel badly that I neglected Lester so often in the beginning.  What was I thinking?

We await the birth of our first baby girl; spring is fast approaching and Lester still has a nursery to paint pastel rose. 

The pretty print curtains are waiting to be hung.  The crib has been purchased and is waiting in its box for assembly.  My boys have just recently been notified that their baby sister will be coming to live with them soon.  Derrick, who is almost three, wrinkled up his face in a grin and exclaimed, “Baby be soon.  I wan’ta see!  Baby!  Please Mama. O-o-oh, I like baby…let’s go Moma.”

Markey also squealed, mimicking his older sibling.  They each clapped their hands several times doing their happy dance, before asking for a treat.  They ended up at the table eating jell-o cubes and apple juice.  Yes, we are excited and can hardly wait for Marsha’s appearance.  She will add another dimension to our family as we grow and spread our love around once more.

I still like to catch the games on television.  I say catch because I only get to view a part of the plays as I take care of my three guys.  I have a desire to teach my children the right values in life, and to follow goals that will bring good judgment throughout their lifetime.  I had to learn these lessons as an adult, but they will know these things early on.

I take back what I’d said before, about waiting until I’m a grandmother to feel glad I decided to raise a family.  I am glad this very minute.

I view my beloved sports, and keep abreast my favorite teams, by radio or television, when I can.  I do not feel slighted, and my family does not feel ignored.  My husband helped me figure out what is important in our relationship as a family, and my children have helped me focus on the important things them and not me.