Dear Husband, Through Every Season I Will Love You

Through Every Season I Will Love You A Letter to my HusbandDear Husband,

This season of life has been a challenging one.

I know it shouldn’t come as a surprise, since people have always told us how hard the first few years of marriage can be. We are smack dab in the middle of those years, after all.

And I know we are not the only ones feeling it. As a matter of fact, I’ve recently started to see other young couples our age announcing the end of their marriages. At first, these announcements always shock me. How could a couple so young be ending a marriage that has only just begun?

But, as you and I sit here in silence in front of the TV after a long day, staring at our phones, I have to admit that I get it.

All of those people who warned us that marriage isn’t always easy? They were right. It is hard. I think we would both admit that this whole “for better or worse” thing hasn’t always been a walk in the park. In a few short years, we’ve already been through so much together. There’s been new jobs, unexpected jobs changes, and jobs we’ve hated every second of. There have been new homes, gross old homes, and even homes attacked by centipedes. There’s been miscarriage, illness, and the loss of family members. There’s been financial worries and more “adult” decisions than I thought two kids like us would ever have to make in such a short time.

And if we are being totally honest, I think we’d both admit that adding children to the mix has been one of the hardest changes of all.

We fight over things that wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for our kids – Things like, who has to get up at 6am on a Saturday with the screaming alarm clock, who has to discipline them after the tantrum in the middle of the frozen food aisle, and why in the world you would give our toddler a cookie just 10 minutes before dinner.

We spend very little time just the two of us these days, and when we finally do find time, we usually spend it doing “boring” stuff. We catch up on episodes of our favorite shows, we go to Target just to walk around in peace without a ticking-tantrum-timebomb accompanying us, or we sit in a movie theater shoving our faces with the sugar we usually deny our kids. We don’t spend as much time talking and laughing and playing as we used to, because we are both so tired. When we get the chance, we just want to turn our brains off. We don’t want to think. We stare at our phones instead of each other. Somedays, it feels like we hardly talk at all. And when we do, it’s often to take out our stress and frustration on one another.

I know that there have been times during our pointless arguments that we’ve both wondered if these years are supposed to be this way. We’ve wondered if we are the only ones who don’t know how to pass the time with our antsy toddler on those long Saturday afternoons. We’ve questioned whether we are the only ones who argue over who has to watch the kids so one of us can have a break, instead of spending our free time going on elaborately planned family adventures together.

Since getting married and having kids, we’ve spent less time taking care of ourselves in favor of sleep. We’ve started to “let ourselves go” and, let’s be honest, we might even be starting to rock the “Mom and Dad bods.” We don’t go out with our friends as much as we used to and staying up late usually means 10:00 (or maybe 12:00, if we are feeling extra crazy). Our idea of “partying” is ordering pizza so that neither of us has to cook or clean up the kitchen.

Let’s face it. In just 3 short years together, our marriage has already changed a lot. And to some, our marriage might not look all that exciting.

But, I want you to know something.

This season? The good, and even the bad? It hasn’t surprised me. I knew it would be challenging. And you know what else? I’m not naïve. I know that we aren’t going to “outgrow” the hard. It’s not like learning to ride a bike. You don’t just figure out the hard part once, and then cruise through the rest of life. Each season ahead is bound to bring challenges of it’s own. I know our marriage will continue to change, and there are sure to be continued growing pains along the way.

But, even now, in these first few “hard” years, I love our life. I love our boring, weird, simple life. Even though my words and actions may not always show it, I love you through the quiet nights of staring at the TV in silence, because I’m sitting next to you. I love you through the financial worries and hard decisions, because I’m facing them with you. Despite the challenges we have faced as a young married couple, I know this is just a season, and I am so very glad that I’m living it with you.

Yes, it’s hard sometimes.

And there will be more hard seasons, no doubt. There will be days when I’m crazy about you and days when I don’t like you at all. There will be times of pure bliss and times when our faith is the thread holding us together. There will be hardships ahead like nothing we’ve ever faced before, and there will be times so good that we will do everything in our power to hold onto them forever. We’ll face boring and crazy, easy and hard, babies and budgets, wins and losses, joy and pain, long hours and sleepless nights. The seasons will just keep changing, and so will our life together.

But one thing will never change, I’m certain.

Through every season, dear husband, I will love you and our life together.

(You can also find this article over on
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Hey New Mama, Do Me a Favor

Hey New Mama, Do Me a Favor(See this article over on here)

The first few months as a new mama proved to be one of the hardest things I have experienced. People told me it would be difficult, but it’s not something you can fully understand until you are entrenched in it. I think it’s a combination of the crazy postpartum hormones, the lack of sleep, and the fact that life as you know it completely changes in an instant. It’s like a shock to the system on so many levels. You feel so alive, and yet, so alone. 

And as I prepare to take on this journey for the second time, I wanted to write a letter, for myself, for you, for all the new mamas out there who are awake in the middle of the night, rocking a new baby, and feeling alone. I wanted to take a second to snap you out of your funk and pummel through the layers of exhaustion-induced haze in your brain, to say…

Hey new mama, do me a favor.

Gaze down at that precious bundled ball of sweetness in your arms, kiss that tiny nose, those soft squishy cheeks, those perfect little lips, and remember…

You can do this. You will do this. This won’t last forever.

I know you feel guilty. You feel guilty for mourning the loss of your old life, instead of rejoicing in the new life in front of you. I know you feel like your emotions have gone haywire, and you feel guilty for crying more now than when you were pregnant. You feel terrible for unexpectedly lashing out at your husband. You feel like a bad mom for not enjoying every second with your new baby. You feel guilty.

But do me a favor. Stop beating yourself up. Start counting all the ways that tiny baby is a blessing, thank God for the little miracle in your arms, and remember, this won’t last forever.

I know you’re tired, so tired. I know that when you’re up at 2 am, for the third time in 3 hours, you feel certain that you can’t possibly continue living this way. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to drag yourself out of bed, or keep your eyes open for even one more minute. You wonder how many cups of coffee one human can safely consume in a day. You truly question whether you’ll ever be a normal, functioning human being, ever again. You are just so exhausted. I know that it’s putting a damper on your new role as a mama. I know that it’s casting a heavy fog over your attempts at joy.

But do me a favor. Keep those eyes open for just one more second. Take a mental snapshot of that perfect little face, savor that fresh baby smell, and remember, this won’t last forever.

I know you’re overwhelmed. You are overwhelmed by the realization that this isn’t temporary. You feel the heaviness of knowing that this human is your responsibility, forever. You feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, and all of the unknown is terrifying. Every time someone asks how much the baby is eating, or the thermometer flashes a number higher than 100, or the baby screams for seemingly no reason at all for minutes and even hours on-end, you get scared. You feel helpless. You feel unequipped. You feel overwhelmed. And I know there are times you wish you could just walk away.

But do me favor. Stay. Stay in that rocking chair just one more minute. Memorize the way that tiny baby fits in your arms, run your fingers over those chubby little hands, and remember, this won’t last forever.

I know you feel forgotten. I know you feel like the old you suddenly fails to exist. You find yourself covered in spit-up, counting poops, obsessed with trying to create a schedule, and wearing the same pair of sweatpants day after day. You wonder what happened to the person you once knew. It’s like she disappeared overnight, and you wonder if you’ll ever find her again. You wonder if the person you used to be even still exists. I know you feel forgotten. I know you feel alone.

I know, I know. It’s hard. 

Hey new mama

I know it’s hard to see past the guilt, exhaustion, and heaviness when you are living smack dab in the middle of it. But, one day, you will. These hardships? They’ll be forgotten. Things will get easier. One day soon, you’ll wake up and feel at home again. You’ll feel at home in your new body and in your new life as a mama. You’ll realize the fog has lifted and you’ll taste the sweetness you once dreamed of. And all you’ll have left of the early days is the snapshots of that perfect squishy baby and the memories you were able to fight through the fog to hold onto.

So, do me a favor. Don’t let those moments go unnoticed. Don’t let the exhaustion cloud your vision. Give those cheeks an extra kiss, savor that sweet baby smell, and rock that baby just a little while longer. Gaze down at your bundled ball of sweetness, memorize those teeny tiny features, and thank God for the little breathing miracle in your arms. Hold tight to these precious, fleeting, sweet memories, and never let them go.

You can do this mama. You will do this. This won’t last forever.